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The  Jessamy  Bride 


THE 


JESSAMY  BRIDE 

BY 

F.  FRANKFORT  MOORE' 


MDCCCXCIX 


COPYRIGHT,  1896,  BY 
HERBERT  S.  STONE  & CO. 


[fourth  impression] 


IS'  Kna  > S^O 


Vv> ^ 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

CHAPTER  I. 

Sir,”  said  Dr.  Johnson,  ‘‘we  have  eaten 
an  excellent  dinner,  we  are  a company  of 
intellig-ent  men  — althoug*h  I allow  that  we 
should  have  difficulty  in  proving  that  we 
are  so  if  it  became  known  that  we  sat  down 
with  a Scotchman  — and  now  pray  do  not 
mar  the  self-satisfaction  which  intelligent 
men  experience  after  dining,  by  making 
assertions  based  on  ignorance  and  main- 
tained by  sophistry.” 

“Why,  sir,”  cried  Goldsmith,  “I  doubt 
if  the  self-satisfaction  of  even  the  most  in- 
r telligent  of  men — whom  I take  to  be  myself 
— is  interfered  with  by  any  demonstration 
of  an  inferior  intellect  on  the  part  of  an- 
other.” 

Edmund  Burke  laughed,  understanding 
. the  meaning  of  the  twinkle  in  Goldsmith’s 
I * eye.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  having  repro- 

j ^"'duced  — with  some  care  — that  twinkle, 

i ’•  turned  the  bell  of  his  ear-trumpet  with  a 
I smile  in  the  direction  of  Johnson;  but  Bo§- 


4 THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

well  and  Garrick  sat  with  solemn  faces. 
The  former  showed  that  he  was  more  im- 
pressed than  ever  with  the  conviction  that 
Goldsmith  was  the  most  blatantly  conceited 
of  mankind,  and  the  latter  — as  Burke  per- 
ceived in  a moment — was  solemn  in  mim- 
icry of  Boswell’s  solemnity.  When  Johnson 
had  given  a roll  or  two  on  his  chair  and  had 
pursed  out  his  lips  in  the  act  of  speaking, 
Boswell  turned  an  eager  face  towards  him, 
putting  his  left  hand  behind  his  ear  so  that 
he  might  not  lose  a word  that  might  fall 
from  his  oracle.  Upon  Garrick’s  face  w^as 
precisely  the  same  expression,  but  it  was 
his  right  hand  that  he  put  behind  his  ear. 

Goldsmith  and  Burke  laughed  together 
at  the  marvellous  imitation  of  the  Scotch- 
man by  the  actor,  and  at  exactly  the  same 
instant  the  conscious  and  unconscious  com- 
edians on  the  other  side  of  the  table  turned 
their  heads  in  the  direction  first  of  Gold- 
smith, then  of  Burke.  Both  faces  were 
identical  as  regards  expression.  It  was 
the  expression  of  a man  who  is  greatly 
grieved.  Then,  with  the  exactitude  of  two 
automatic  figures  worked  by  the  same  ma- 
chinery, they  turned  their  heads  again 
toward  Johnson. 

‘‘Sir,”  said  Johnson,  “your  endeavour 
to  evade  the  consequences  of  maintaining 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  5 

a silly  argument  by  thrusting  forward  a 
question  touching  upon  mankind  in  gen- 
eral, suggests  an  assumption  on  your  part 
that  my  intelligence  is  of  an  inferior  order 
to  your  own,  and  that,  sir,  I cannot  permit 
to  pass  unrebuked.” 

‘‘Nay,  sir,”  cried  Boswell,  eagerly,  “I 
cannot  believe  that  Dr.  Goldsmith’s  inten- 
tion was  so  monstrous.” 

“And  the  very  fact  of  your  believing 
that,  sir,  amounts  almost  to  a positive  proof 
that  the  contrary  is  the  case,”  roared  John- 
son. 

“ Pray,  sir,  do  not  condemn  me  on  such 
evidence,”  said  Goldsmith. 

“Men  have  been  hanged  on  less,”  re- 
marked Burke.  “But,  to  return  to  the 
original  matter,  I should  like  to  know  upon 
what  facts ” 

“Ah,  sir,  to  introduce  facts  into  any 
controversy  on  a point  of  art  would  indeed 
be  a departure,”  said  Goldsmith  solemnly. 
“I  cannot  countenance  a proceeding  which 
threatens  to  strangle  the  imagination.” 
'“And  you  require  yours  to  be  particu- 
larly healthy  just  now.  Doctor.  Did  you 
not  tell  us  that  you  were  about  to  write  a 
Natural  History?  ” said  Garrick. 

“Well,  I remarked  that  I had  got  paid 


6 THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

for  doing*  so  — that’s  not  just  the  same 
thing*,”  laughed  Goldsmith. 

“Ah,  the  money  is  in  hand;  the  Natural 
History  is  left  to  the  imagination,,”  said 
Reynolds.  “That  is  the  most  satisfactory 
arrangement.” 

“Yes,  for  the  author,”  said  Burke. 
“ Some  time  ago  it  was  the  book  which  was 
in  hand,  and  the  payment  was  left  to  the 
imagination.” 

“ These  sallies  are  all  very  well  in  their 
way,”  said  Garrick,  “but  their  brilliance 
tends  to  blind  us  to  the  real  issue  of  the 
question  that  Dr.  Goldsmith  introduced, 
which  I take  it  was.  Why  should  not  acting 
be  included  among  the  arts?  As  a matter 
of  course,  the  question  possesses  no  more 
than  a casual  interest  to  any  of  the  gentle- 
men present,  with  the  exception  of  Mr. 
Burke  and  myself.  I am  an  actor  and  Mr. 
Burke  is  a statesman  — another  branch  of 
the  same  profession — and  therefore  we  are 
vitally  concerned  in  the  settlement  of  the 
question.” 

“The  matter  never  rose  to  the  dignity 
of  being  a question,  sir,”  said  Johnson. 
“It  must  be  apparent  to  the  humblest 
intelligence  — nay,  even  to  Boswell’s  — that 
acting  is  a trick,  not  a profession  — a diver- 
sion, not  an  art.  I am  ashamed  of  Dr, 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  7 

Goldsmith  for  having*  contended  to  the 
contrary.” 

“It  must  only  have  been  in  sport,  sir,” 
said  Boswell  mildly. 

“Sir,  Dr.  Goldsmith  may  have  earned 
reprobation,”  cried  Johnson,  “but  he  has 
been  g'uilty  of  nothing*  so  heinous  as  to  de- 
serve the  punishment  of  having*  you  as  his 
advocate.” 

“ Oh,  sir,  surely  Mr.  Boswell  is  the  best 
one  in  the  world  to  pronounce  an  opinion  as 
to  what  was  said  in  sport,  and  what  in  earn- 
est,” said  Goldsmith.  “His  fine  sense  of 
humour ” 

“Sir,  have  you  seen  the  picture  which 
he  got  painted  of  himself  on  his  return 
from  Corsica?  ” shouted  Johnson. 

“Gentlemen,  these  diversions  may  be 
well  enough  for  you,”  said  Garrick,  “but 
in  my  ears  they  sound  as  the  jests  of  the 
crowd  must  in  the  ears  of  a wretch  on  his 
way  to  Tyburn.  Think,  sirs,  of  the  position 
occupied  by  Mr.  Burke  and  myself  at  the 
present  moment.  Are  we  to  be  branded  as 
outcasts  because  we  happen  to  be  actors?  ” 

“Undoubtedly  you  at  least  are,  Davy,” 
cried  Johnson.  “And  good  enough  for  you 
too,  you  rascal!  ” 

“And,  for  my  part,  I would  rather  be  an 
outcast  with  David  Garrick  than  become 


8 THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

chaplain  to  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,” 
said  Goldsmith. 

“Dr.  Goldsmith,  let  me  tell  you  that  it 
is  unbecoming-  in  you,  who  have  relations 
in  the  church,  to  make  such  an  assertion,” 
said  Johnson  sternly.  “What,  sir,  does 
friendship  occupy  a place  before  relig-ion 
in  your  estimation?  ” 

“The  Archbishop  could  easily  g*et  an- 
other chaplain,  sir,  but  whither  could  the 
stag-e  look  for  another  Garrick?”  said  Gold- 
smith. 

“ Psha  ! Sir,  the  puppets  which  we  saw 
last  week  in  Panton  street  delighted  the 
town  more  than  ever  Mr.  Garrick  did,” 
cried  Johnson;  and  when  he  perceived  that 
Garrick  coloured  at  this  sally  of  his,  he  lay 
back  in  his  chair  and  roared  with  laughter. 

Reynolds  took  snuff. 

“Dr.  Goldsmith  said  he  could  act  as 
adroitly  as  the  best  of  the  puppets  — I 
heard  him  myself,”  said  Boswell. 

“That  was  only  his  vain  boasting  which 
you  have  so  frequently  noted  with  that 
acuteness  of  observation  that  makes  you 
the  envy  of  our  circle,”  said  Burke.  “You 
understand  the  Irish  temperament  per- 
fectly, Mr.  Boswell.  But  to  resort  to  the 
original  point  raised  by  Goldsmith ; surely. 
Dr.  Johnson,  you  will  allow  that  an  actor  of 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  9 

g-enius  is  at  least  on  a level  with  a musician 
of  g*enius.” 

“Sir,  I will  allow  that  he  is  on  a level 
with  a fiddler,  if  that  will  satisfy  you,”  re- 
plied Johnson. 

“Surely,  sir,  you  must  allow  that  Mr. 
Garrick’s  art  is  superior  to  that  of  Sig-nor 
Piozzi,  whom -we  heard  play  at  Dr.  Bur- 
ney’s,” said  Burke. 

“Yes,  sir;  David  Garrick  has  the  g*ood 
luck  to  be  an  Eng-lishman,  and  Piozzi  the  ill 
luck  to  be  an  Italian,  ” replied  Johnson.  “Sir, 
’t  is  no  use  affecting*  to  maintain  that  you 
reg-ard  acting*  as  on  a level  with  the  arts.  I 
will  not  put  an  affront  upon  your  intellig*ence 
by  supposing*  that  you  actually  believe  what 
your  words  would  imply.” 

“You  can  take  your  choice,  Mr.  Burke,” 
said  Goldsmith:  “whether  you  will  have  the 
affront  put  upon  your  intelligence  or  your 
sincerity.” 

“I  am  sorry  that  I am  compelled  to  leave 
the  company  for  a space,  just  as  there  seems 
to  be  some  chance  of  the  argument  becom- 
ing really  interesting  to  me  personally,” 
said  Garrick,  rising;  “but  the  fact  is  that  I 
rashly  made  an  engagement  for  this  hour. 
I shall  be  gone  for  perhaps  twenty  minutes, 
and  meantime  you  may  be  able  to  come  to 
some  agreement  on  a matter  which,  I repeat. 


10 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

is  one  of  vital  importance  to  Mr.  Burke  and 
myself;  and  so,  sirs,  farewell  for  the  pres- 
ent.” 

He  g-ave  one  of  those  bows  of  his,  to 
witness  which  was  a liberal  education  in 
the  days  when  g*race  was  an  art,  and  left 
the  room. 

“If  Mr.  Garrick’s  bow  does  not  prove 
my  point,  no  arg*ument  that  I can  bring 
forward  will  produce  any  impression  upon 
you,  sir,”  said  Goldsmith. 

“The  dog  is  well  enough,”  said  John- 
son; “but  he  has  need  to  be  kept  in  his 
place,  and  I believe  that  there  is  no  one 
whose  attempts  to  keep  him  in  his  place 
he  will  tolerate  as  he  does  mine.” 

“And  what  do  you  suppose  is  Mr.  Gar- 
rick’s place,  sir?”  asked  Goldsmith.  “ Do 
you  believe  that  if  we  were  all  to  stand  on 
one  another’s  shoulders,  as  certain  acro- 
bats do,  with  Garrick  on  the  shoulder  of 
the  topmost  man,  we  should  succeed  in 
keeping  him  in  his  proper  place  ? ” 

“Sir,”  said  Dr.  Johnson,  “your  ques- 
tion is  as  ridiculous  as  anything  you  have 
said  to-night,  and  to  say  so  much,  sir,  is, 
let  me  tell  you,  to  say  a good  deal.” 

“What  a pity  it  is  that  honest  Gold- 
smith is  so  persistent  in  his  attempts  to 
shine,”  whispered  Boswell  to  Burke. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  11 

“’Tis  a great  pity,  truly,  that  a lark 
should  try  to  make  its  voice  heard  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  a Niagara,”  said  Burke. 

‘‘Pray,  sir,  what  is  a Niagara?”  asked 
Boswell. 

“A  Niagara?”  said  Burke.  “Better 
ask  Dr.  Goldsmith;  he  alluded  to  it  in  his 
latest  poem.  Dr.  Goldsmith,  Mr.  Boswell 
wishes  to  know  what  a Niagara  is.” 

“Sir,”  said  Goldsmith,  who  had  caught 
every  word  of  the  conversation  in  under- 
tone. “Sir,  Niagara  is  the  Dr.  Johnson  of 
the  New  World.” 


CHAPTER  II. 


The  conversation  took  place  in  the 
Crown  and  Anchor  tavern  in  the  Strand, 
where  the  party  had  just  dined.  Dr.  John- 
son had  been  quite  as  good  company  as 
usual.  There  was  a general  feeling  that  he 
had  rarely  insulted  Boswell  so  frequently 
in  the  course  of  a single  evening  — but 
then,  Boswell  had  rarely  so  laid  himself 
open  to  insult  as  he  had  upon  this  evening 
— and  when  he  had  finished  with  the 
Scotchman,  he  turned  his  attention  to  Gar- 
rick, the  opportunity  being  afforded  him  by 
Oliver  Goldsmith,  who  had  been  unguarded 
enough  to  say  a word  or  two  regarding  that 
which  he  termed  ‘‘the  art  of  acting.” 

“ Dr.  Goldsmith,  I am  ashamed  of  you, 
sir,”  cried  the  great  dictator.  “Who  gave 
you  the  authority  to  add  to  the  number  of 
the  arts  ‘the  art  of  acting’?  We  shall  hear 
of  the  art  of  dancing  next,  and  every  tum- 
bler who  kicks  up  the  sawdust  will  have 
the  right  to  call  himself  an  artist.  Madame 
Violante,  who  gave  Peggy  Woffington  her 

first  lesson  on  the  tight  rope,  will  rank  with 
12 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  13 

Miss  Kauffman,  the  painter  — nay,  every 
poodle  that  dances  on  its  hind  leg’s  in  pub- 
lic will  be  an  artist.” 

It  was  in  vain  that  Goldsmith  endeav- 
oured to  show  that  the  admission  of  acting- 
to  the  list  of  arts  scarcely  entailed  such 
consequences  as  Johnson  asserted  would 
be  inevitable,  if  that  admission  were  once 
made ; it  was  in  vain  that  Garrick  asked  if 
the  fact  that  painting-  was  included  among- 
the  arts,  caused  sig-n  painters  to  claim  for 
themselves  the  standing*  of  artists ; and,  if 
not,  why  there  was  any  reason  to  suppose 
that  the  tumblers  to  whom  Johnson  had 
alluded  would  advance  their  claims  to  be 
on  a level  with  the  highest  interpreters  of 
the  emotions  of  humanity.  Dr.  Johnson 
roared  down  every  suggestion  that  was 
offered  to  him  most  courteously  by  his 
friends. 

Then,  in  the  exuberance  of  his  spirits, 
he  insulted  Boswell  and  told  Burke  he  did 
not  know  what  he  was  talking  about.  In 
short,  he  was  thoroughly  Johnsonian,  and 
considered  himself  the  best  of  company, 
and  eminently  capable  of  pronouncing  an 
opinion  as  to  what  were  the  elements  of  a 
clubable  man. 

He  had  succeeded  in  driving  one  of  his 
best  friends  out  of  the  room,  and  in  reduc- 


14  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

ing-  the  others  of  the  party  to  silence  — all 
except  Boswell,  who,  as  usual,  tried  to  start 
him  upon  a discussion  of  some  subtle  point 
of  theolog*y.  Boswell  seemed  invariably  to 
have  adopted  this  course  after  he  had  been 
thoroughly  insulted,  and  to  have  been,  as  a 
rule,  very  successful  in  its  practice : it 
usually  led  to  his  attaining  to  the  distinc- 
tion of  another  rebuke  for  him  to  gloat 
over. 

He  now  thought  that  the  exact  moment 
had  come  for  him  to  find  out  what  Dr.  John- 
son thought  on  the  subject  of  the  immor- 
tality of  the  soul. 

“Pray,  sir,”  said  he,  shifting  his  chair 
so  as  to  get  between  Reynolds’  ear-trumpet 
and  his  oracle — his  jealousy  of  Sir  Joshua’s 
ear-trumpet  was  as  great  as  his  jealousy  of 
Goldsmith.  “Pray,  sir,  is  there  any  evi- 
dence among  the  ancient  Egyptians  that 
they  believed  that  the  soul  of  man  was  im- 
perishable?” 

“ Sir,”  said  Johnson,  after  a huge  roll  or 
two,  “there  is  evidence  that  the  ancient 
Egyptians  were  in  the  habit  of  introducing 
a memento  mori  at  a feast,  lest  the  partakers 
of  the  banquet  should  become  too  merry.” 

“Well,  sir?”  said  Boswell  eagerly,  as 
Johnson  made  a pause. 

“ Well,  sir,  we  have  no  need  to  go  to  the 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  15 

trouble  of  introducing  such  an  object,  since 
Scotchmen  are  so  plentiful  in  London,  and 
so  ready  to  accept  the  offer  of  a dinner,” 
said  Johnson,  quite  in  his  pleasantest  man- 
ner. 

Boswell  was  more  elated  than  the  others 
of  the  company  at  this  sally.  He  felt  that 
he,  and  he  only,  could  succeed  in  drawing 
his  best  from  Johnson. 

“ Nay,  Dr.  Johnson,  you  are  too  hard  on 
the  Scotch,”  he  murmured,  but  in  no  depre- 
catory tone.  He  seemed  to  be  under  the 
impression  that  every  one  present  was 
envying  him,  and  he  smiled  as  if  he  felt 
that  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  accept 
with  meekness  the  distinction  of  which  he 
was  the  recipient. 

“Come,  Goldy,”  cried  Johnson,  turning 
his  back  upon  Boswell,  “you  must  not  be 
silent,  or  I will  think  that  you  feel  aggrieved 
because  I got  the  better  of  you  in  the  argu- 
ment.” 

“Argument,  sir?”  said  Goldsmith.  “I 
protest  that  I was  not  aware  that  any  argu- 
ment was  under  consideration.  You  make 
short  work  of  another’s  argument.  Doctor.” 

“ ’T  is  due  to  the  logical  faculty  which  I 
have  in  common  with  Mr.  Boswell,  sir,” 
said  Johnson,  with  a twinkle. 

“The  logical  faculty  of  the  elephant 


16  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

when  it  lies  down  on  its  tormentor,  the 
wolf,”  muttered  Goldsmith,  who  had  just 
acquired  some  curious  facts  for  his  Ani- 
mated Nature. 

At  that  moment  one  of  the  tavern 
waiters  entered  the  room  with  a message 
to  Goldsmith  that  his  cousin,  the  Dean,  had 
just  arrived  and  was  anxious  to  obtain  per- 
mission to  join  the  party. 

“My  cousin,  the  Dean!  What  Dean? 
What  does  the  man  mean?”  said  Gold- 
smith, who  appeared  to  be  both  surprised 
and  confused. 

“Why,  sir,”  said  Boswell,  “you  have 
told  us  more  than  once  that  you  had  a 
cousin  who  was  a dignitary  of  the  church.” 
“Have  I,  indeed?”  said  Goldsmith. 
“ Then  I suppose,  if  I said  so,  this  must  be 
the  very  man.  A Dean,  is  he?” 

“ Sir,  it  is  ill-mannered  to  keep  even  a 
curate  waiting  in  the  common  room  of  a 
tavern,”  said  Johnson,  who  was  not  the 
man  to  shrink  from  any  sudden  addition  to 
his  audience  of  an  evening.  “ If  your  rela- 
tion were  an  Archbishop,  sir,  this  company 
would  be  worthy  to  receive  him.  Pray 
give  the  order  to  show  him  into  this  room.” 
Goldsmith  seemed  lost  in  thought.  He 
gave  a start  when  Johnson  had  spoken,  and 
in  no  very  certain  tone  told  the  waiter  to 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  17 

lead  the  clerg*yman  up  to  the  room.  Oli- 
ver’s face  undoubtedly  wore  an  expression 
of  greater  curiosity  than  that  of  any  of  his 
friends,  before  the  waiter  returned,  fol- 
lowed by  an  elderly  and  somewhat  under- 
sized clergyman  wearing  a full  bottomed 
wig  and  the  bands  and  apron  of  a dignitary 
of  the  church.  He  walked  stiffly,  with  an 
erect  carriage  that  gave  a certain  dignity 
to  his  short  figure.  His  face  was  white, 
but  his  eyebrows  were  extremely  bushy. 
He  had  a slight  squint  in  one  eye. 

The  bow  which  he  gave  on  entering  the 
room  was  profuse  but  awkward.  It  con- 
trasted with  the  farewell  salute  of  Garrick 
on  leaving  the  table  twenty  minutes  before. 
Every  one  present,  with  the  exception  of 
Oliver,  perceived  in  a moment  a family  re- 
semblance in  the  clergyman’s  bow  to  that 
with  which  Goldsmith  was  accustomed  to 
receive  his  friends.  A little  jerk  which  the 
visitor  gave  in  raising  his  head  was  laugh- 
ably like  a motion  made  by  Goldsmith,  sup- 
plemental to  his  usual  bow. 

“Gentlemen,”  said  the  visitor,  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand,  “I  entreat  of  you  to  be 
seated.”  His  voice  and  accent  more  than 
suggested  Goldsmith’s,  although  he  had 
only  a suspicion  of  an  Irish  brogue.  If 
Oliver  had  made  an  attempt  to  disown  his 


18  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

relationship,  no  one  in  the  room  would  have 
regarded  him  as  sincere.  “Nay,  gentle- 
men, I insist,”  continued  the  stranger; 
‘‘you  embarrass  me  with  your  courtesy.” 

“Sir,”  said  Johnson,  “you  will  not  find 
that  any  company  over  which  I have  the 
honour  to  preside  is  found  lacking  in  its 
duty  to  the  church.” 

“I  am  the  humblest  of  its  ministers,  sir,” 
said  the  stranger,  with  a deprecatory  bow. 
Then  he  glanced  round  the  room,  and  with 
an  exclamation  of  pleasure  went  towards 
Goldsmith.  “Ah!  I do  not  need  to  ask 
which  of  this  distinguished  company  is  my 
cousin  Nolly  — I beg  your  pardon,  Oliver — 
ah,  old  times  — old  times  ! ” He  had  caught 
Goldsmith’s  hands  in  both  his  own  and  was 
looking  into  his  face  with  a pathetic  air. 
Goldsmith  seemed  a little  embarrassed. 
His  smile  was  but  the  shadow  of  a smile. 
The  rest  of  the  party  averted  their  heads, 
for  in  the  long  silence  that  followed  the  ex- 
clamation of  the  visitor,  there  was  an  ele- 
ment of  pathos. 

Curiously  enough,  a sudden  laugh  came 
from  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  causing  all  faces 
to  be  turned  in  his  direction.  An  aspect  of 
stern  rebuke  was  now  worn  by  Dr.  John- 
son. The  painter  hastened  to  apologise. 

“ I ask  your  pardon,  sir,”  he  said,  grave- 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  19 

ly,  “but  — sir,  I am  a painter  — my  name 
is  Reynolds  — and  — well,  sir,  the  family 
resemblance  between  you  and  our  dear 
friend  Dr.  Goldsmith  — a resemblance  that 
perhaps  only  a painter’s  eye  could  detect — 
seemed  to  me  so  extraordinary  as  you  stood 

together,  that ” 

“Not  another  word,  sir,  I entreat  of 
you,”  cried  the  visitor.  “ My  cousin  Oliver 
and  I have  not  met  for — how  many  years  is 
it,  Nolly?  Not  eleven  — no,  it  cannot  be 
eleven  — and  yet  — : — ” 

“Ah,  sir,”  said  Oliver,  “time  is  fugitive 
— very  fugitive.” 

He  shook  his  head  sadly. 

“I  am  pleased  to  hear  that  you  have 
acquired  this  knowledge,  which  the  wis- 
dom of  the  ancients  has  crystallised  in  a 
phrase,”  said  the  stranger.  “But  you 
must  present  me  to  your  friends,  Noll  — 
Oliver,  I mean.  You,  sir  ” — he  turned  to 
Reynolds — “have  told  me  your  name.  Am 
I fortunate  enough  to  be  face  to  face  with 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds?  Oh,  there  can  be  no 
doubt  about  it.  Oliver  dedicated  his  last 
poem  to  you.  Sir,  I am  your  servant.  And 
you,  sir  ” — he  turned  to  Burke  — “I  seem 
to  have  seen  your  face  somewhere  — it  is 

strangely  familiar ” 

“That  gentleman  is  Mr.  Burke,  sir,” 


20  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

said  Goldsmith.  He  was  rapidly  recover- 
ing* his  embarrassment,  and  spoke  with 
something  of  an  air  of  pride,  as  he  made  a 
gesture  with  his  right  hand  towards  Burke. 
The  clergyman  made  precisely  the  same 

gesture  with  his  left  hand,  crying 

‘‘  What,  Mr.  Edmund  Burke,  the  friend 
of  liberty  — the  friend  of  the  people  ? ” 

“ The  same,  sir,”  said  Oliver.  “ He  is, 
besides,  the  friend  of  Oliver  Goldsmith.” 
“Then  he  is  my  friend  also,”  said  the 
clergyman.  “Sir,  to  be  in  a position  to  shake 
you  by  the  hand  is  the  greatest  privilege  of 
my  life.” 

“You  do  me  great  honor,  sir,”  said 
Burke. 

Goldsmith  was  burning  to  draw  the  at- 
tention of  his  relative  to  Dr.  Johnson,  who 
on  his  side  was  looking  anything  but  pleased 
at  being  so  far  neglected. 

“ Mr.  Burke,  you  are  our  countryman — 
Oliver’s  and  mine  — and  I know  you  are 
sound  on  the  Royal  Marriage  Act.  I should 
dearly  like  to  have  a talk  with  you  on  that 
iniquitous  measure.  You  opposed  it,  sir?” 
“With  all  my  power,  sir,”  said  Burke. 
“Give  me  your  hand  again,  sir.  Mrs. 
Luttrel  was  an  honour  to  her  sex,  and  it  is 
she  who  confers  an  honour  upon  the  Duke 
of  Cumberland,  not  the  other  way  about. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  21 

You  are  with  me,  Mr.  Burke?  Eh,  what  is 
the  matter.  Cousin  Noll?  Why  do  you  work 
with  your  arm  that  way?” 

“There  are  other  g-entlemen  in  the  room, 
Mr.  Dean,”  said  Oliver. 

“They  can  wait,”  cried  Mr.Dean.  “They 
are  certain  to  be  inferior  to  Mr.  Burke  and 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  If  I should  be  wrong*, 
they  will  not  feel  mortified  at  what  I have 
said.” 

“This  is  Mr.  Boswell,  sir,”  said  Gold- 
smith. 

“Mr.  Boswell  — of  where,  sir?” 

“Mr.  Boswell,  of  — of  Scotland,  sir.” 

“ Scotland,  the  land  where  the  clerg-ymen 
write  plays  for  the  theatre.  Your  clerg-y- 
men might  be  better  employed,  Mr. — 
Mr. ” 

“Boswell,  sir.” 

“Mr.  Boswell.  Yes,  I hope  you  will 
look  into  this  matter  should  you  ever  visit 
your  country  again  — a remote  possibility, 
from  all  that  I can  learn  of  your  country- 
men.” 

“ Why,  sir,  since  Mr.  Home  wrote  his 

tragedy  of  ‘Douglas’ ” began  Boswell, 

but  he  was  interrupted  by  the  stranger. 

“ What,  you  would  condone  his  offence?” 
he  cried.  “The  fact  of  your  having  a mind 
to  do  so  shows  that  the  clergy  of  your 


22  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

country  are  still  sadly  lax  in  their  duty,  sir. 
They  should  have  taug-ht  you  better.” 

‘‘And  this  is  Dr.  Johnson,  sir,”  said 
Goldsmith  in  tones  of  triumph. 

His  relation  sprang*  from  his  seat  and 
advanced  to  the  head  of  the  table,  bowing 
profoundly. 

“ Dr.  Johnson,”  he  cried,  “I  have  long 
desired  to  meet  you,  sir.” 

“I  am  your  servant,  Mr.  Dean,”  said 
Johnson,  towering  above  him  as  he  got  — 
somewhat  awkwardly — upon  his  feet.  ' “ No 
gentleman  of  your  cloth,  sir — leaving  aside 
for  the  moment  all  consideration  of  the 
eminence  in  the  church  to  which  you  have 
attained  — fails  to  obtain  my  respect.” 

“I  am  glad  of  that,  sir,”  said  the  Dean. 
“It  shows  that  you,  though  a Non-conform- 
ist preacher,  and,  as  I understand,  abound- 
ing in  zeal  on  behalf  of  the  cause  of  which 
you  are  so  able  an  advocate,  are  not  dis- 
posed to  relinquish  the  example  of  the 
great  Wesley  in  his  admiration  for  the 
church.” 

“ Sir,”  said  Johnson,  with  great  dignity, 
but  with  a scowl  upon  his  face.  “ Sir,  you 
are  the  victim  of  an  error  as  gross  as  it  is 
unaccountable.  I am  not  a Non-conformist 
— on  the  contrary,  I would  give  the  rogues 
no  quarter.” 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  23 

“ Sir,”  said  the  clerg-yman,  with  the  air 
of  one  administering*  a rebuke  to  a subor- 
dinate. “Sir,  such  intoleration  is  unworthy 
of  an  enlig-htened  country  and  an  ag*e  of 
some  culture.  But  I ask  your  pardon ; find- 
ing* you  in  the  company  of  distinguished 
gentlemen,  I was  led  to  believe  that  you 
were  the  g*reat  Dr.  Johnson,  the  champion 
of  the  rights  of  conscience.  I regret  that  I 
was  mistaken.” 

“Sir!”  cried  Goldsmith,  in  great  con- 
sternation— for  Johnson  was  rendered 
speechless  through  being  placed  in  the 
position  of  the  rebuked,  instead  of  occupy- 
ing his  accustomed  place  as  the  rebuker. 
“Sir,  this  is  the  great  Dr.  Johnson  — nay, 
there  is  no  Dr.  Johnson  but  one.” 

“ ’T  is  so  like  your  good  nature.  Cousin 
Oliver,  to  take  the  side  of  the  weak,”  said 
the  clergyman,  smiling.  “Well,  well,  we 
will  take  the  honest  gentleman’s  greatness 
for  granted ; and,  indeed,  he  is  great  in  one 
sense : he  is  large  enough  to  outweigh  you 
and  me  put  together  in  one  scale.  To  such 
greatness  we  would  do  well  to  bow.” 

“Heavens,  sir!”  said  Boswell  in  a 
whisper  that  had  something  of  awe  in  it. 
“ Is  it  possible  that  you  have  never  heard 
of  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson?” 

“Alas!  sir,”  said  the  stranger,  “I  am 


24  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

but  a country  parson.  I cannot  be  expected 
to  know  all  the  men  who  are  called  great  in 
London.  Of  course,  Mr.  Burke  and  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds  have  a European  reputa- 
tion; but  you,  Mr.  — Mr.  — ah!  you  see  I 
have  e’en  forgot  your  worthy  name,  sir, 
though  I doubt  not  you  are  one  of  London’s 
greatest.  Pray,  sir,  what  have  you  written 
that  entitles  you  to  speak  with  such  free- 
dom in  the  presence  of  such  gentlemen  as 
Mr.  Burke,  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  and  — I 
add  with  pride  — Oliver  Goldsmith?  ” 

“I  am  the  friend  of  Dr.  Johnson,  sir,” 
muttered  Boswell. 

“And  he  has  doubtless  greatness  enough 
— avoirdupois  — to  serve  for  both!  Pray, 
Oliver,  as  the  gentleman  from  Scotland  is 
too  modest  to  speak  for  himself,  tell  me 
what  he  has  written.” 

“ He  has  written  many  excellent  works, 
sir,  including  an  account  of  Corsica,”  said 
Goldsmith,  with  some  stammering. 

“And  his  friend.  Dr.  Johnson,  has  he 
attained  to  an  equally  dizzy  altitude  in 
literature?” 

“You  are  surely  jesting,  sir,”  said 
Goldsmith.  “ The  world  is  familiar  with 
Dr.  Johnson’s  Dictionary.” 

“Alas,  I am  but  a country  parson,  as 
you  know,  Oliver,  and  I have  no  need  for  a 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  25 

dictionary, ‘having*  been  moderately  well 
educated.  Has  the  work  appeared  recently, 
Dr.  Johnson?” 

But  Dr.  Johnson  had  turned  his  back 
upon  the  strang*er,  and  had  picked  up  a 
volume  which  Tom  Davies,  the  bookseller, 
had  sent  to  him  at  the  Crown  and  Anchor, 
and  had  buried  his  face  in  its  pag*es,  bend- 
ing* it,  as  was  his  wont,  until  the  stitching* 
had  cracked,  and  the  back  was  already 
loose. 

“ Your  g*reat  friend,  Noll,  is  no  lover  of 
books,  or  he  would  treat  them  with  g*reater 
tenderness,”  said  the  clerg*yman.  “I  would 
fain  hope  that  the  purchasers  of  his  dic- 
tionary treat  it  more  fairly  than  he  does 
the  work  of  others.  When  did  he  bring 
out  his  dictionary?” 

“ Eighteen  years  ago,”  said  Oliver. 

“And  what  books  has  he  written  within 
the  intervening  years?” 

“He  has  been  a constant  writer,  sir, 
and  is  the  most  highly  esteemed  of  our 
authors.” 

“Nay,  sir,  but  give  me  a list  of  his 
books  published  within  the  past  eighteen 
years,  so  that  I may  repair  my  deplorable 
ignorance.  You,  cousin,  have  written  many 
works  that  the  world  would  not  willingly 
be  without;  and  I hear  that  you  are  about 


26  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

to  add  to  that  already  honourable  list ; but 
your  friend  — oh,  you  have  deceived  me, 
Oliver ! — he  is  no  true  worker  in  literature, 
or  he  would  — nay,  he  could  not,  have 
remained  idle  all  these  years.  How  does 
he  obtain  his  means  of  living  if  he  will  not 
use  his  pen?” 

“He  has  a pension  from  the  King,  sir,” 
stuttered  Oliver,  “I  tell  you,  sir,  he  is 
the  most  learned  man  in  Europe.” 

“ His  is  a sad  case,”  said  the  clergyman. 
“ To  refrain  from  administering  to  him  the 
rebuke  which  he  deserves  would  be  to 
neglect  an  obvious  duty.”  He  took  a few 
steps  towards  Johnson  and  raised  his  head. 
Goldsmith  fell  into  a chair  and  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands;  Boswell’s  jaw  fell;  Burke 
and  Reynolds  looked  by  turns  grave  and 
amused.  “ Dr.  Johnson,”  said  the  stranger, 
“ I feel  that  it  is  my  duty  as  a clergyman  to 
urge  upon  you  to  amend  your  way  of  life.” 

“Sir,”  shouted  Johnson,  “if  you  were 
not  a clergyman  I would  say  that  you  were 
a very  impertinent  fellow  ! ” 

“ Your  way  of  receiving  a rebuke  which 
your  conscience  — if  you  have  one  — tells 
you  that  you  have  earned,  supplements  in 
no  small  measure  the  knowledge  of  your 
character  which  I have  obtained  since 
entering  this  room,  sir.  You  may  be  a 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  27 

man  of  some  parts,  Dr.  Johnson,  but  you 
have  acknowledg-ed  yourself  to  be  as  intol- 
erant in  matters  of  religion  as  you  have 
proved  yourself  to  be  intolerant  of  rebuke, 
offered  to  you  in  a friendly  spirit.  It  seems 
to  me  that  your  habit  is  to  browbeat  your 
friends  into  acquiescence  with  every  dic- 
tum that  comes  from  your  lips,  though  they 
are  workers  — not  without  honour — at  that 
profession  of  letters  which  you  despise  — 
nay,  sir,  do  not  interrupt  me.  If  you  did 
not  despise  letters,  you  would  not  have 
allowed  eighteen  years  of  your  life  to  pass 
without  printing  at  least  as  many  books. 
Think  you,  sir,  that  a pension  was  granted 
to  you  by  the  state  to  enable  you  to  eat  the 
bread  of  idleness  while  your  betters  are 
starving  in  their  garrets  ? Dr.  Johnson,  if 
your  name  should  go  down  to  posterity, 
how  do  you  think  you  will  be  regarded  by 
all  discriminating  men  ? Do  you  think  that 
those  tavern  dinners  at  which  you  sit  at  the 
head  of  the  table  and  shout  down  all  who 
differ  from  you,  will  be  placed  to  your 
credit  to  balance  your  love  of  idleness  and 
your  intolerance?  That  is  the  question 
which  I leave  with  you ; I pray  you  to  con- 
sider it  well;  and  so,  sir,  I take  my  leave  of 
you.  Gentlemen,  Cousin  Oliver,  farewell, 
sirs.  I trust  I have  not  spoken  in  vain.” 


28 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

He  made  a g-eneral  bow  — an  awkward 
bow  - — and  walked  with  some  dignity  to  the 
door.  Then  he  turned  and  bowed  again 
before  leaving  the  room. 


CHAPTER  III. 


When  he  had  disappeared,  the  room  was 
very  silent. 

Suddenly  Goldsmith,  who  had  remained 
sitting  at  the  table  with  his  face  buried  in 
his  hands,  started  up,  crying  out,  ‘Rasse- 
las.  Prince  of  Abyssinia  ’ ! How  could  I be 
so  great  a fool  as  to  forget  that  he  pub- 
lished ‘Rasselas’  since  the  Dictionary?” 
He  ran  to  the  door  and  opened  it,  calling 
downstairs  : “ ‘Rasselas,  Prince  of  Abys- 

sinia’ ! ‘ Rasselas,  Prince  of  Abyssinia  ’ ! ” 
“Sir  !”  came  the  roar  of  Dr.  Johnson. 
“ Close  that  door  and  return  to  your  chair, 
if  you  desire  to  retain  even  the  smallest 
amount  of  the  respect  which  your  friends 
once  had  for  you.  Cease  your  bawling,  sir, 
and  behave  decently.” 

Goldsmith  shut  the  door. 

“I  did  you  a gross  injustice,  sir,”  said 
he,  returning  slowly  to  the  table.  “I 
allowed  that  man  to  assume  that  you  had 
published  no  book  since  your  Dictionary. 
The  fact  is,  that  I was  so  disturbed  at  the 
moment  I forgot  your  ‘ Rasselas.’  ” 

29 


30  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“If  you  had  mentioned  that  book,  you 
would  but  have  added  to  the  force  of  your 
relation’s  contention,  Dr.  Goldsmith,”  said 
Johnson.  “If  lam  suspected  of  being  an 
idle  dog,  the  fact  that  I have  printed  a 
small  volume  of  no  particular  merit  will  not 
convince  my  accuser  of  my  industry.” 

“ Those  who  know  you,  sir,”  cried  Gold- 
smith, “do  not  need  any  evidence  of  your 

industry.  As  for  that  man ” 

“Let  the  man  alone,  sir,”  thundered 
Johnson. 

“ Pray,  why  should  he  let  the  man  alone, 
sir  ?”  said  Boswell. 

“Because,  in  the  first  place,  sir,  the 
man  is  a clergyman,  in  rank  next  to  a 
Bishop  ; in  the  second  place,  he  is  a relative 
of  Dr.  Goldsmith’s;  and,  in  the  third  place, 
he  was  justified  in  his  remarks.” 

“ Oh,  no,  sir,”  said  Boswell.  “We  deny 
your  generous  plea  of  justification.  Idle  ! 
Think  of  the  dedications  which  you  have 
written  even  within  the  year.” 

“Psha ! Sir,  the  more  I think  6f  them 
the  — well,  the  less  I think  of  them,  if  you 
will  allow  me  the  paradox,”  said  Johnson. 
“ Sir,  the  man  is  right,  and  there ’s  an  end 
on ’t.  Dr.  Goldsmith,  you  will  convey  my 
compliments  to  your  cousin,  and  assure 
him  of  my  good  will.  I can  forgive  him  for 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  31 

everything*,  sir,  except  his  ignorance  re- 
specting my  Dictionary.  Pray  what  is  his 
name,  sir  ? ” 

“His  name,  sir,  his  name?”  faltered 
Goldsmith. 

“Yes,  sir,  his  name.  Surely  the  man 
has  a name,”  said  Johnson. 

“His  name,  sir,  is  — is  — God  help  me, 
sir,  I know  not  what  is  his  name.” 

“ Nonsense,  Dr.  Goldsmith ! He  is  your 
cousin  and  a Dean.  Mr.  Boswell  tells  me 
that  he  has  heard  you  refer  to  him  in  con- 
versation ; if  you  did  so  in  a spirit  of  boast- 
ing, you  erred.” 

For  some  moments  Goldsmith  was  silent. 
Then,  without  looking  up,  he  said  in  a low 
tone: 

“ The  man  is  no  cousin  of  mine ; I have 
no  relative  who  is  a Dean.” 

“ Nay,  Dr.  Goldsmith,  you  need  not  deny 
it,”  cried  Boswell.  “You  boasted  of  him 
quite  recently,  and  in  the  presence  of  Mr. 
Garrick,  too.” 

“Mr.  Boswell’s  ear  is  acute.  Goldsmith,” 
said  Burke  with  a smile. 

“His  ears  are  so  long,  sir,  one  is  not 
surprised  to  find  the  unities  of  nature  are 
maintained  when  one  hears  his  voice,”  re- 
marked Goldsmith  in  a low  tone. 

“ Here  comes  Mr.  Garrick  himself,”  said 


32  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

Reynolds  as  the  door  was  opened  and  Gar- 
rick returned,  bowing*  in  his  usual  pleasant 
manner  as  he  advanced  to  the  chair  which 
he  had  vacated  not  more  than  half  an  hour 
before.  “Mr.  Garrick  is  an  impartial  wit- 
ness on  this  point.” 

“Whatever  he  may  be  on  some  other 
points,”  remarked  Burke. 

“Gentlemen,”  said  Garrick,  “you  seem 
to  be  somewhat  less  harmonious  than  you 
were  when  I was  compelled  to  hurry  away 
to  keep  my  appointment.  May  I inquire  the 
reason  of  the  difference?” 

“You  may  not,  sir ! ” shouted  Johnson, 
seeing  that  Boswell  was  burning  to  acquaint 
Garrick  with  what  had  occurred.  Johnson 
quickly  perceived  that  it  would  be  well  to 
keep  the  visit  of  the  clergyman  a secret, 
and  he  knew  that  it  would  have  no  chance 
of  remaining  one  for  long  if  Garrick  were 
to  hear  of  it.  He  could  imagine  Garrick 
burlesquing  the  whole  scene  for  the  enter- 
tainment of  the  Burney  girls  or  the  Horneck 
family.  He  had  heard  more  than  once  of  the 
diversion  which  his  old  pupil  at  Lichfield 
had  created  by  his  mimicry  of  certain 
scenes  in  which  he,  Johnson,  played  an  im- 
portant part.  He  had  been  congratulating 
himself  upon  the  fortunate  absence  of  the 
actor  during  the  visit  of  the  clergyman. 


33 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“You  may  tell  Mr.  Garrick  nothing*,  sir,” 
he  repeated,  as  Garrick  looked  with  a blank 
expression  of  interrogation  around  the  com- 
pany. 

“Sir,”  said  Boswell,  ‘‘my  veracity  is 
called  in  question.” 

“What  is  a question  of  your  veracity, 
sir,  in  comparison  with  the  issues  that  have 
been  in  the  balance  during  the  past  half- 
hour?”  cried  Johnson. 

“Nay,  sir,  one  question,”  said  Burke, 
seeing  that  Boswell  had  collapsed.  “Mr. 
Garrick  — have  you  heard  Dr.  Goldsmith 
boast  of  having  a Dean  for  a relative?” 

“Why,  no,  sir,”  replied  Garrick;  “but 
I heard  him  say  that  he  had  a brother  who 
deserved  to  be  a Dean.” 

“And  so  I had,  ” cried  Goldsmith.  “Alas ! 
I cannot  say  that  I have  now.  My  poor 
brother  died  a country  clergyman  a few 
years  ago.” 

“I  am  a blind  man  so  far  as  evidence 
bearing  upon  things  seen  is  concerned,” 
said  Johnson;  “but  it  seemed  to  me  that 
some  of  the  man’s  gestures  — nay,  some  of 
the  tones  of  his  voice  as  well  — resembled 
those  of  Dr.  Goldsmith.  I should  like  to 
know  if  any  one  at  the  table  noticed  the 
similarity  to  which  I allude.” 


34  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“I  certainly  noticed  it,”  cried  Boswell 
eagerly. 

“Your  evidence  is  not  admissible,  sir,” 
said  Johnson.  “ What  does  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds say?” 

“ Why,  sir,”  said  Reynolds  with  a laugh, 
and  a glance  towards  Garrick,  “I  confess 
that  I noticed  the  resemblance  and  was 
struck  by  it,  both  as  regards  the  man’s 
gestures  and  his  voice.  But  I am  as  con- 
vinced that  he  was  no  relation  of  Dr.  Gold- 
smith’s as  I am  of  my  own  existence.” 

“But  if  not,  sir,  how  can  you  account 
for ” 

Boswell’s  inquiry  was  promptly  checked 
by  Johnson. 

“ Be  silent,  sir,”  he  thundered.  “ If  you 
have  left  your  manners  in  Scotland  in  an 
impulse  of  generosity,  you  have  done  a 
foolish  thing,  for  the  gift  was  meagre  out 
of  all  proportion  to  the  needs  of  your  coun- 
try in  that  respect.  Sir,  let  me  tell  you 
that  the  last  word  has  been  spoken  touch- 
ing this  incident.  I will  consider  any  fur- 
ther reference  to  it  in  the  light  of  a per- 
sonal affront.” 

After  a rather  awkward  pause,  Garrick 
said: 

“I  begin  to  suspect  that  I have  been 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  35 

more  hig*hly  diverted  during*  the  past  half- 
hour  than  any  of  this  company.” 

‘‘Well,  Davy,”  said  Johnson,  “the  accu- 
racy of  your  suspicion  is  wholly  dependent 
on  your  disposition  to  be  entertained. 
Where  have  you  been,  sir,  and  of  what 
nature  was  your  diversion?  ” 

“Sir,”  said  Garrick,  “ I have  been  with 
a poet.” 

“So  have  we,  sir  — with  the  g*reatest 
poet  alive  — the  author  of  ‘ The  Deserted 
Villag*e  ’ — and  yet  you  enter  to  find  us 
immoderately  g*lum,”  said  Johnson.  He 
was  anxious  to  show  his  friend  Goldsmith 
that  he  did  not  reg*ard  him  as  accountable 
for  the  visit  of  the  clerg-yman  whom  he 
quite  believed  to  be  Oliver’s  cousin,  in 
spite  of  the  repudiation  of  the  relationship 
by  Goldsmith  himself,  and  the  asseveration 
of  Reynolds. 

“Ah,  sir,  mine  was  not  a poet  such  as 
Dr.  Goldsmith,”  said  Garrick.  “ Mine  was 
only  a sort  of  poet.” 

“ And  pray,  sir,  what  is  a sort  of  poet  ? ” 
asked  Boswell. 

“A  sort  of  poet,  sir,  is  one  who  writes 
a sort  of  poetry,”  replied  Garrick. 

He  then  beg*an  a circumstantial  account 
of  how  he  had  made  an  appointment  for  the 
hour  at  which  he  had  left  his  friends,  with 


36  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

a g-entleman  who  was  anxious  to  read  to 
him  some  portions  of  a play  which  he  had 
just  written.  The  meeting*  was  to  take 
place  in  a neig*hbt)uring*  coffee-house  in  the 
Strand ; but  even  thoug*h  the  distance  which 
he  had  to  traverse  was  short,  it  had  been 
the  scene  of  more  than  one  adventure, 
which,  narrated  by  Garrick,  proved  comical 
to  an  extraordinary  deg-ree. 

“A  few  yards  away  I almost  ran  into  the 
arms  of  a clerg-ymaii  — he  wore  the  bands 
and  apron  of  a Dean,”  he  continued,  not 
seeming  to  notice  the  little  start  which  his 
announcement  caused  in  some  directions. 
The  man  grasped  me  by  the  arm,”  he  con- 
tinued, “doubtless  recognising  me  from 
my  portraits  — for  he  said  he  had  never 
seen  me  act  — and  then  began  an  harangue 
on  the  text  of  neglected  opportunities.  It 
seemed,  however,  that  he  had  no  more 
apparent  example  of  my  sins  in  this  direc- 
tion than  my  neglect  to  produce  Dr.  Gold- 
smith’s ‘ Good-Natured  Man.’  Faith,  gen- 
tlemen, he  took  it  quite  as  a family  griev- 
ance.” Suddenly  he  paused,  and  looked 
around  the  party;  only  Reynolds  was  laugh- 
ing, all  the  rest  were  grave.  A thought 
seemed  to  strike  the  narrator.  “What!” 
he  cried,  “it  is  not  possible  that  this  was, 
after  all.  Dr.  Goldsmith’s  cousin,  the  Dean, 


37 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

reg*arding*  whom  you  interrog*ated  me  just 
now?  If  so,  ’t  is  an  extraordinary  coinci- 
dence that  I should  have  encountered  him 
— unless  — g*ood  heavens,  g-entlemen!  is  it 
the  case  that  he  came  here  when  I had 
thrown  him  off?” 

“Sir,”  cried  Oliver,  “I  affirm  that  no 
relation  of  mine,  Dean  or  no  Dean,  entered 
this  room !” 

“ Then,  sir,  you  may  look  to  find  him  at 
your  chambers  in  Brick  Court  on  your 
return,”  said  Garrick.  “ Oh,  yes,  Doctor ! — 
a small  man  with  the  family  bow  of  the  Gold- 
smiths— something*  like  this.”  He  g*ave 
a comical  reproduction  of  the  salutation  of 
the  clergyman. 

“ I tell  you,  sir,  once  and  for  all,  that  the 
man  is  no  relation  of  mine,”  protested  Gold- 
smith. 

“ And  let  that  be  the  end  of  the  matter,” 
declared  Johnson,  with  no  lack  of  decisive- 
ness in  his  voice. 

“Oh,  sir,  I assure  you  I have  no  desire 
to  meet  the  g*entleman  again,  ” laughed  Gar- 
rick. “I  got  rid  of  him  by  a feint,  just  as 
he  was  endeavouring  to  force  me  to  promise 
a production  of  a dramatic  version  of  ‘ The 
Deserted  Village’ — he  said  he  had  the  ver- 
sion at  his  lodging,  and  meant  to  read  it  to 


38  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

his  cousin  — I ask  your  pardon,  sir,  but  he 
said  ‘cousin.’  ” 

“Sir,  let  us  have  no  more  of  this  — 
cousin  or  no  cousin,”  roared  Johnson. 

“That  is  my  prayer,  sir — I utter  it  with 
all  my  heart  and  soul,”  said  Garrick.  “It 
was  about  my  poet  I meant  to  speak  — my 
poet  and  his  play.  What  think  you  of  the 
South  Seas  and  the  visit  of  Lieutenant 
Cook  as  the  subject  of  a tragedy  in  blank 
verse,  Dr.  Johnson?” 

“I  think,  Davy,  that  the  subject  repre- 
sents so  magnificent  a scheme  of  theatrical 
bankruptcy  you  would  do  well  to  hand  it 
over  to  that  scoundrel  Foote,”  said  John- 
son pleasantly.  He  was  by  this  time  quite 
himself  again,  and  ready  to  pronounce  an 
opinion  on  any  question  with  that  finality 
which  carried  conviction  with  it  — yes,  to 
James  Boswell. 

For  the  next  half-hour  Garrick  enter- 
tained his  friends  with  the  details  of  his 
interview  with  the  poet  who  — according  to 
his  account  — had  designed  the  drama  of 
“Otaheite”  in  order  to  afford  Garrick  an 
opportunity  of  playing  the  part  of  a canni- 
bal king,  dressed  mainly  in  feathers,  and 
beating  time  alternately  with  a club  and  a 
tomahawk,  while  he  delivered  a series  of 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  39 

blank  verse  soliloquies  and  apostrophes  to 
Mars,  Vulcan  and  Diana. 

“The  monarch  was  especially  devoted 
to  Diana,”  said  Garrick.  “My  poet  ex- 
plained that,  being-  a hunter,  he  would  nat- 
urally find  it  greatly  to  his  advantage  to 
say  a good  word  now  and  again  for  the 
chaste  goddess;  and  when  I inquired  how 
it  was  possible  that  his  Majesty  of  Ota- 
heite  could  know  anything  about  Diana,  he 
said  the  Romans  and  the  South  Sea  Island- 
ers were  equally  Pagans,  and  that,  as  such, 
they  had  equal  rights  in  the  Pagan  mythol- 
ogy ; it  would  be  monstrously  unjust  to  as- 
sume that  the  Romans  should  claim  a 
monopoly  of  Diana.” 

Boswell  interrupted  him  to  express  the 
opinion  that  the  poet’s  contention  was  quite 
untenable,  and  Garrick  said  it  was  a great 
relief  to  his  mind  to  have  so  erudite  a 
scholar  as  Boswell  on  his  side  in  the  argu- 
ment, though  he  admitted  that  he  thought 
there  was  a good  deal  in  the  poet’s  argu- 
ment. 

He  adroitly  led  on  his  victim  to  enter 
into  a serious  argument  on  the  question  of 
the  possibility  of  the  Otaheitans  haying  any 
definite  notion  of  the  character  and  respon- 
sibilities assigned  to  Diana  in  the  Roman 
mythology ; and  after  keeping  the  party  in 


40  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

roars  of  laug-hter  for  half  an  hour,  he  de- 
lighted Boswell  by  assuring  him  that  his 
eloquence  and  the  force  of  his  arguments 
had  removed  whatever  misgivings  he,  Gar- 
rick, originally  had,  that  he  was  doing  the 
poet  an  injustice  in  declining  his  tragedy. 

When  the  party  were  about  to  separate. 
Goldsmith  drew  Johnson  apart  — greatly  to 
the  pique  of  Boswell  — and  said  — 

“Dr.  Johnson,  I have  a great  favour  to 
ask  of  you,  sir,  and  I hope  you  will  see  your 
way  to  grant  it,  though  I do  not  deserve 
any  favour  from  you.” 

“You  deserve  no  favour,  Goldy,”  said 
Johnson,  laying  his  hand  on  the  little  man’s 
shoulder,  “and  therefore,  sir,  you  make  a 
man  who  grants  you  one  so  well  satisfied 
with  himself  he  should  regard  himself  your 
debtor.  Pray,  sir,  make  me  your  debtor 
by  giving  me  a chance  of  granting  you  a 
favour.” 

“You  say  everything  better  than  any 
living  man,  sir, ” cried  Goldsmith.  “How 
long  would  it  take  me  to  compose  so  grace- 
ful a sentence,  do  you  suppose?  You  are 
the  man  whom  I most  highly  respect,  sir, 
and  I am  anxious  to  obtain  your  permission 
to  dedicate  to  you  the  comedy  which  I have 
written  and  Mr.  Colman  is  about  to  pro- 
duce.” 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  41 

“Dr.  Goldsmith,”  said  Johnson,  “we 
have  been  good  friends  for  several  years 
now.” 

“ Long  before  Mr.  Boswell  came  to  town, 
sir.” 

“Undoubtedly,  sir  — long  before  you 
became  recognised  as  the  most  melodious 
of  our  poets  — the  most  diverting  of  our 
play-writers.  I wrote  the  prologue  to  your 
first  play,  Goldy,  and  I ’ll  stand  sponsor  for 
your  second  — nay,  sir,  not  only  so,  but  I ’ll 
also  go  to  see  it,  and  if  it  be  damned,  I ’ll 
drink  punch  with  you  all  night  and  talk  of 
my  tragedy  of  ‘ Irene,’  which  was  also 
damned ; there ’s  my  hand  on  it.  Dr.  Gold- 
smith.” 

Goldsmith  pressed  the  great  hand  with 
both  of  his  own,  and  tears  were  in  his  eyes 
and  his  voice  as  he  said  — 

“ Your  generosity  overpowers  me,  sir.” 


CHAPTER  IV. 


Boswell,  who  was  standing*  to  one  side 
watching*  — his  eyes  full  of  curiosity  and 
his  ears  strained  to  catch  by  chance  a word 
— the  little  scene  that  was  being*  enacted  in 
a corner  of  the  room,  took  g*ood  care  that 
Johnson  should  be  in  his  charg*e  g*oing 
home.  This  walk  to  Johnson’s  house  ne- 
cessitated a walk  back  to  his  own  lodg*ing*s 
in  Piccadilly ; but  this  was  nothing*  to  Bos- 
well, who  had  every  confidence  in  his  own- 
capability  to  extract  from  his  g*reat  patron 
some  account  of  the  secrets  which  had  been 
exchang*ed  in  the  corner. 

For  once,  however,  he  found  himself 
unable  to  effect  his  object  — nay,  when  he 
beg*an  his  operations  with  his  accustomed 
lig*htness  of  touch,  Johnson  turned  upon 
him,  saying*  — 

“Sir,  I observe  what  is  your  aim,  and  I 
take  this  opportunity  to  tell  you  that  if  you 
make  any  further  references,  direct  or 
indirect,  to  man,  woman  or  child,  to  the 
occurrences  of  this  evening*,  you  will  cease 
to  be  a friend  of  mine.  I have  been  humil- 

42 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  43 

iated  sufficiently  by  a stranger,  who  had 
every  right  to  speak  as  he  did,  but  I refuse 
to  be  humiliated  by  you,  sir.” 

Boswell  expressed  himself  willing  to 
give  the  amplest  security  for  his  good  be- 
haviour. He  had  great  hope  of  conferring 
upon  his  patron  a month  of  inconvenience 
in  making  a tour  of  the  west  coast  of  Scot- 
land during  the  summer. 

The  others  of  the  party  went  northward 
by  one  of  the  streets  off  the  Strand  into 
Coventry  street,  and  thence  toward  Sir 
Joshua’s  house  in  Leicester  Square,  Burke 
walking  in  front  with  his  arm  through 
Goldsmith’s,  and  Garrick  some  way  be- 
hind with  Reynolds.  Goldsmith  was  very 
eloquent  in  his  references  to  the  magna- 
nimity of  Johnson,  who,  he  said,  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  he  had  been  grossly  insulted 
by  an  impostor  calling  himself  his.  Gold- 
smith’s, cousin,  had  consented  to  receive 
the  dedication  of  the  new  comedy.  Burke, 
who  understood  the  temperament  of  his 
countryman,  felt  that  he  himself  might 
surpass  in  eloquence  even  Oliver  Gold- 
smith if  he  took  for  his  text  the  magnanim- 
ity of  the  author  of  “The  Good  Natured 
Man.”  He,  however,  refrained  from  the 
attempt  to  prove  to  his  companion  that 
there  were  other  ways  by  which  a man 


44  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

could  g*aln  a reputation  for  g*cnerosity  than 
by  permitting*  the  most  distinguished  wri- 
ter of  the  ag*e  to  dedicate  a comedy  to  him. 

Of  the  other  couple  Garrick  was  rattling 
away  in  the  highest  spirits,  quite  regard- 
less of  the  position  of  Reynolds’s  ear-trum- 
pet. Reynolds  was  as  silent  as  Burke  for 
a considerable  time;  but  then,  stopping  at  a 
corner  so  as  to  allow  Goldsmith  and  his 
companion  to  get  out  of  ear-shot,  he  laid  his 
hand  on  Garrick’s  arm,  laughing  heartily 
as  he  said  — 

“You  are  a pretty  rascal,  David,  to  play 
such  a trick  upon  your  best  friends.  You 
are  a pretty  rascal,  and  a great  genius, 
Davy  — the  greatest  genius  alive.  There 
never  has  been  such  an  actor  as  you,  Davy, 
and  there  never  will  be  another  such.” 

“Sir,”  said  Garrick,  with  an  overdone 
expression  of  embarrassment  upon  his 
face,  every  gesture  that  he  made  corre- 
sponding. “Sir,  I protest  that  you  are 
speaking  in  parables.  I admit  the  genius, 
if  you  insist  upon  it,  but  as  for  the  ras- 
cality— well,  it  is  possible,  I suppose,  to  be 
both  a great  genius  and  a great  rascal; 
there  was  our  friend  Benvenuto,  for  exam- 
ple, but ” 

“ Only  a combination  of  genius  and  ras- 
cality could  have  hit  upon  such  a device  as 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  45 

that  bow  which  you  made,  Davy,”  said 
Reynolds.  “It  presented  before  my  eyes 
a long*  vista  of  Goldsmiths  — all  made  in 
the  same  fashion  as  our  friend  on  in  front, 
and  all  striving*  — and  not  unsuccessfully, 
either  — to  maintain  the  family  tradition  of 
the  Goldsmith  bow.  And  then  your  imita- 
tion of  your  imitation  of  the  same  move- 
ment— how  did  we  contain  ourselves  — 
Burke  and  I?” 

“You  fancy  that  Burke  saw  throug*h 
the  Dean,  also?”  said  Garrick. 

“I’m  convinced  that  he  did.” 

“But  he  will  not  tell  Johnson,  I would 
fain  hope.” 

“You  are  very  anxious  that  Johnson 
should  not  know  how  it  was  he  was  tricked. 
But  you  do  not  mind  how  you  pain  a much 
more  generous  man.” 

“You  mean  Goldsmith?  Faith,  sir,  I 
do  mind  it  greatly.  If  I were  not  certain 
that  he  would  forthwith  hasten  to  tell  John- 
son, I would  go  to  him  and  confess  all,  ask- 
ing his  forgiveness.  But  he  would  tell 
Johnson  and  never  forgive  me,  so  I ’ll  e’en 
hold  my  tongue.” 

“You  will  not  lose  a night’s  rest  through 
brooding  on  Goldsmith’s  pain,  David.” 

“It  was  an  impulse  of  the  moment  that 
caused  me  to  adopt  that  device,  my  friend. 


46  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

Johnson  is  past  all  argument,  sir.  That 
sickening  sycophant,  Boswell,  may  find 
happiness  in  being  insulted  by  him,  but 
there  are  others  who  think  that  the  Doctor 
has  no  more  right  than  any  ordinary  man 
to  offer  an  affront  to  those  whom  the  rest  of 
the  world  respects.” 

“He  will  allow  no  one  but  himself  to 
attack  you,  Davy.” 

“And  by  my  soul,  sir,  I would  rather 
that  he  allowed  every  one  else  to  attack  me 
if  he  refrained  from  it  himself.  Where  is 
the  generosity  of  a man  who,  with  the  force 
and  influence  of  a dozen  men,  will  not  allow 
a bad  word  to  be  said  about  you,  but  says 
himself  more  than  the  whole  dozen  could 
say  in  as  many  years  ? Sir,  do  the  pheas- 
ants, which  our  friend  Mr.  Bunbury  breeds 
so  successfully,  regard  him  as  a pattern  of 
generosity  because  he  won’t  let  a dozen  of 
his  farmers  have  a shot  at  them,  but  pre- 
serves them  for  his  own  unerring  gun?  By 
the  Lord  Harry,  I would  rather,  if  I were 
a pheasant,  be  shot  at  by  the  blunderbusses 
of  a dozen  yokels  than  by  the  fowling- 
piece  of  one  good  marksman,  such  as  Bun- 
bury. On  the  same  principle,  I have  no 
particular  liking  to  be  preserved  to  make 
sport  for  the  heavy  broadsides  that  come 
from  that  literary  three-decker,  Johnson.” 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  47 

‘‘I  have  sympathy  with  your  conten- 
tions, David ; but  we  all  allow  your  old 
schoolmaster  a license  which  would  be  per- 
mitted to  no  one  else.” 

“ That  license  is  not  a game  license,  Sir 
Joshua ; and  so  I have  made  up  my  mind 
that  if  he  says  anything  more  about  the 
profession  of  an  actor  being  a degrading 
one — about  an  actor  being  on  the  level  with 
a fiddler — nay,  one  of  the  puppets  of  Panton 
street,  I will  teach  my  old  schoolmaster  a 
more  useful  lesson  than  he  ever  taught  to 
me.  I think  it  is  probable  that  he  is  at  this 
very  moment  pondering  upon  those  plain 
truths  which  were  told  to  him  by  the  Dean.” 
‘‘And  poor  Goldsmith  has  been  talking 
so  incessantly  and  so  earnestly  to  Burke,  I 
am  convinced  that  he  feels  greatly  pained 
as  well  as  puzzled  by  that  inopportune  visit 
of  the  clergyman  who  exhibited  such 
striking  characteristics  of  the  Goldsmith 
family.” 

“ Nay,  did  I not  bear  testimony  in  his 
favour  — declaring  that  he  had  never  allu- 
ded to  a relation  who  was  a Dean?” 

“ Oh,  yes ; you  did  your  best  to  place  us 
all  at  our  ease,  sir.  You  were  magnani- 
mous, David  — as  magnanimous  as  the  sur- 
geon who  cuts  off  an  arm,  plunges  the  stump 
into  boiling  pitch,  and  then  gives  the  patient 


48  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

a grain  or  two  of  opium  to  make  him  sleep. 
But  I should  not  say  a word : I have  seen 
you  in  your  best  part,  Mr.  Garrick,  and  I 
can  give  the  heartiest  commendation  to  your 
powers  as  a comedian,  while  condemning 
with  equal  force  the  immorality  of  the  whole 
proceeding.” 

They  had  now  arrived  at  Reynolds’s 
house  in  Leicester  Square,  Goldsmith  and 
Burke  — the  former  still  talking  eagerly  — 
having  waited  for  them  to  come  up. 

“ Gentlemen,”  said  Reynolds,  ‘‘  you  have 
all  gone  out  of  your  accustomed  way  to  leave 
me  at  my  own  door.  I insist  on  your  enter- 
ing to  have  some  refreshment.  Mr.  Burke, 
you  will  not  refuse  to  enter  and  pronounce 
an  opinion  as  to  the  portrait  at  which  I am 
engaged  of  the  charming  Lady  Betty  Ham- 
ilton.” 

“0  matre  fulchra  Jilia  ^ulchrior^'^'^ 
Goldsmith;  but  there  was  not  much  aptness 
in  the  quotation,  the  mother  of  Lady  Betty 
having  been  the  loveliest  of  the  sisters  Gun- 
ning, who  had  married  first  the  Duke  of 
Hamilton,  and,  later,  the  Duke  of  Argyll. 

Before  they  had  rung  the  bell  the  hall 
door  was  opened  by  Sir  Joshua’s  servant, 
Ralph,  and  a young  man,  very  elegantly 
dressed,  was  shown  out  by  the  servant. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  49 

He  at  once  recog'iiised  Sir  Joshua  and  then 
Garrick. 

“Ah,  my  dear  Sir  Joshua,”  he  cried,  “I 
have  to  entreat  your  forg*iveness  for  having- 
taken  the  liberty  of  g*oing-  into  your  paint- 
ing--room  in  your  absence.” 

“Your  Lordship  has  every  claim  upon 
my  consideration,”  said  Sir  Joshua.  “I 
cannot  doubt  which  of  my  poor  efforts 
drew  you  thither.” 

“ The  fact  is.  Sir  Joshua,  I promised  Ler 
Grace  three  days  ag-o  to  see  the  picture,  and 
as  I think  it  likely  that  I shall  meet  her  to- 
nig-ht,  I made  a point  of  coming-  hither. 
The  Duchess  of  Arg-yll  is  not  easily  put 
aside  when  she  commences  to  catechise  a 
poor  man,  sir.” 

“I  cannot  hope,  my  Lord,  that  the  pic- 
ture of  Lady  Betty  commended  itself  to 
your  Lordship’s  eye,”  said  Sir  Joshua. 

“The  picture  is  a beauty,  my  dear  Sir 
Joshua,”  said  the  young  man,  but  with  no 
great  show  of  ardour.  “It  pleases  me 
greatly.  Your  macaw  is  also  a beauty.  A 
capital  notion  of  painting  a macaw  on  a 
pedestal  by  the  side  of  the  lady,  is  it  not, 
Mr.  Garrick  — two  birds  with  the  one 
stone,  you  know  ? ” 

“True,  sir,”  said  Garrick.  “Lady 
Betty  is  a bird  of  Paradise.” 


so  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

That ’s  as  neatly  said  as  if  it  were  part 
of  a play,”  said  the  young*  man.  ‘‘  Talking 
of  plays,  there  is  going  to  be  a pretty 
comedy  enacted  at  the  Pantheon  to-night.” 

“ Is  it  not  a mask  ? ” said  Garrick. 

“Nay,  finer  sport  even  than  that,” 
laughed  the  youth.  “We  are  going  to  do 
more  for  the  drama  in  an  hour,  Mr,  Gar- 
rick, than  you  have  done  in  twenty  years, 
sir.” 

“At  the  Pantheon,  Lord  Stanley?”  in- 
quired Garrick. 

“ Come  to  the  Pantheon  and  you  shall 
see  all  that  there  is  to  be  seen,”  cried  Lord 
Stanley.  “Who  are  your  friends?  Have 
I had  the  honour  to  be  acquainted  with 
them?” 

“ Your  Lordship  must  have  met  Mr. 
Burke  and  Dr.  Goldsmith,”  said  Garrick. 

“ I have  often  longed  for  that  privilege,” 
said  Lord  Stanley,  bowing  in  reply  to  the 
salutation  of  the  others.  “ Mr.  Burke’s 
speech  on  the  Marriage  Bill  was  a fine 
effort,  and  Mr.  Goldsmith’s  comedy  has 
always  been  my  favourite.  I hear  that  you 
are  at  present  engaged  upon  another,  Dr. 
Goldsmith,  That  is  good  news,  sir.  Oh, 
’t  were  a great  pity  if  so  distinguished  a 
party  missed  the  sport  which  is  on  foot  to- 
night! Let  me  invite  you  all  to  the  Pan- 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  51 

theon — here  are  tickets  to  the  show.  You 
will  g-ive  me  a box  at  your  theatre,  Garrick, 
in  exchang-e,  on  the  nig-ht  when  Mr.  Gold- 
smith’s new  play  is  produced.” 

“Alas,  my  Lord,”  said  Garrick,  “that 
privileg*e  will  be  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Col- 
man.” 

“ What,  at  t’  other  house?  Mr.  Garrick, 
I ’m  ashamed  of  you.  Nevertheless,  you 
will  come  to  the  comedy  at  the  Pantheon 
to-night.  I must  hasten  to  act  my  part. 
But  we  shall  meet  there,  I trust.” 

He  bowed  with  his  hat  in  his  hand  to  the 
group,  and  hastened  away  with  an  air  of 
mystery. 

“ What  does  he  mean?”  asked  Reynolds. 

“ That  is  what  I have  been  asking  my- 
self,” replied  Garrick.  “By  heavens,  I 
have  it!”  he  cried  after  a pause  of  a few 
moments.  “ I have  heard  rumours  of  what 
some  of  our  young  bloods  swore  to  do,  since 
the  managers  of  the  Pantheon,  in  an  out- 
burst of  virtuous  indignation  at  the  orgies 
of  Vauxhall  and  Ranelagh,  issued  their 
sheet  of  regulations  prohibiting  the  en- 
trance of  actresses  to  their  rotunda.  Lord 
Conway,  I heard,  was  the  leader  of  the 
scheme,  and  it  seems  that  this  young  Stan- 
ley is  also  one  of  the  plot.  Let  us  hasten  to 


52  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

witness  the  sport.  I would  not  miss  being- 
present  for  the  world.” 

“I  am  not  so  eager,”  said  Sir  Joshua. 
“I  have  my  work  to  engage  me  early  in  the 
morning,  and  I have  lost  all  interest  in  such 
follies  as  seem  to  be  on  foot.” 

“I  have  not,  thank  heaven!  ” cried  Gar- 
rick; “nor  has  Dr.  Goldsmith,  I’ll  swear. 
As  for  Burke  — well,  being  a member  of 
Parliament,  he  is  a seasoned  rascal ; and  so 
good-night  to  you,  good  Mr.  President.” 
“We  need  a frolic,”  cried  Goldsmith. 
“ God  knows  we  had  a dull  enough  dinner 
at  the  Crown  and  Anchor.” 

“An  Irishman  and  a frolic  are  like — 
well,  let  us  say  like  Lady  Betty  and  your 
macaw.  Sir  Joshua,”  said  Burke.  “They 
go  together  very  naturally.” 


CHAPTER  V. 


Sir  Joshua  entered  his  house,  and  the 
others  hastened  northward  to  the  Oxford 
road,  where  the  Pantheon  had  scarcely 
been  opened  more  than  a year  for  the  enter- 
tainment of  the  fashionable  world  — a more 
fashionable  world,  it  was  hoped,  than  was 
in  the  habit  of  appearing-  at  Ranelag-h  and 
Vauxhall.  From  a hundred  to  a hundred 
and  fifty  years  ago,  rank  and  fashion  sought 
their  entertainment  almost  exclusively  at 
the  Assembly  Rooms  when  the  weather 
failed  to  allow  of  their  meeting  at  the  two 
great  public  gardens.  But  as  the  govern- 
ment of  the  majority  of  these  places  in- 
variably became  lax  — there  was  only  one 
Beau  Nash  who  had  the  cleverness  to  per- 
ceive that  an  autocracy  was  the  only  possi- 
ble form  of  government  for  such  assemblies 
— the  committee  of  the  Pantheon  deter- 
mined to  frame  so  strict  a code  of  rules, 
bearing  upon  the  admission  of  visitors,  as 
should,  they  believed,  prevent  the  place 
from  falling  to  the  low  level  of  the  gardens. 

In  addition  to  the  charge  of  half-a-guinea 

53 


54  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

for  admission  to  the  rotunda,  there  were 
rules  which  gave  the  committee  the  option 
of  practically  excluding  any  person  whose 
presence  they  might  regard  as  not  tending 
to  maintain  the  high  character  of  the  Pan- 
theon; and  it  was  announced  in  the  most 
decisive  wa.y  that  upon  no  consideration 
would  actresses  be  allowed  to  enter. 

The  announcements  made  to  this  effect 
were  regarded  in  some  directions  as  emi- 
nently salutary.  They  were  applauded  by 
all  persons  who  were  sufficiently  strict  to 
prevent  their  wives  or  daughters  from 
going  to  those  entertainments  that  pos- 
sessed little  or  no  supervision.  Such  per- 
sons understood  the  world  and  the  period 
so  indifferently  as  to  be  optimists  in  regard 
to  the  question  of  the  possibility  of  combin- 
ing Puritanism  and  promiscuous  entertain- 
ments terminating  long  after  midnight. 
They  hailed  the  arrival  of  the  time  when 
innocent  recreation  would  not  be  incom- 
patible with  the  display  of  the  richest 
dresses  or  the  most  sumptuous  figures. 

But  there  was  another,  and  a more 
numerous  set,  who  were  very  cynical  on 
the  subject  of  the  regulation  of  beauty  and 
fashion  at  the  Pantheon.  The  best  of  this 
set  shrugged  their  shoulders,  and  ex- 
pressed the  belief  that  the  supervised 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  55 

entertainments  would  be  vastly  dull.  The 
worst  of  them  published  verses  full  of 
cheap  sarcasm,  and  proper  names  with 
asterisks  artfully  introduced  in  place  of 
vowels,  so  as  to  evade  the  possibility  of 
actions  for  libel  when  their  allusions  were 
more  than  usually  scandalous. 

While  the  ladies  of  the  committee  were 
applauding-  one  another  and  declaring-  that 
neither  threats  nor  sarcasms  would  prevail 
ag-ainst  their  resolution,  an  informal  meet- 
ing- was  held  at  White’s  of  the  persons  who 
affirmed  that  they  were  more  affected  than 
any  others  by  the  carrying-  out  of  the  new 
reg-ulations;  and  at  the  meeting-  they  re- 
solved to  make  the  manag-ement  aware  of 
the  mistake  into  which  they  had  fallen  in 
endeavouring-  to  discriminate  between  the 
classes  of  their  patrons. 

When  Garrick  and  his  friends  reached 
the  Oxford  road,  as  the  thoroughfare  was 
then  called,  the  result  of  this  meeting-  was 
making  itself  felt.  The  road  was  crowded 
with  people  who  seemed  waiting  for  some- 
thing unusual  to  occur,  though  of  what 
form  it  was  to  assume  no  one  seemed  to  be 
aware.  The  crowd  were  at  any  rate  good- 
humoured.  They  cheered  heartily  every 
coach  that  rolled  by  bearing  splendidly 
dressed  ladies  to  the  Pantheon  and  to  other 


56  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

and  less  public  entertainments.  They 
waved  their  hats  over  the  chairs  which, 
similarly  burdened,  went  swinging*  along 
between  the  bearers,  footmen  walking  on 
each  side  and  link-boys  running  in  advance, 
the  glare  of  their  torches  g'iving  additional 
redness  to  the  faces  of  the  hot  fellows  who 
had  the  chair-straps  over  their  shoulders. 
Every  now  and  again  an  ofidcer  of  the 
Guards  would  come  in  for  the  cheers  of  the 
people,  and  occasionally  a jostling  match 
took  place  between  some  supercilious 
young  beau  and  the  apprentices,  through 
the  midst  of  whom  he  attempted  to  force 
his  way.  More  than  once  swords  flashed 
beneath  the  sickly  illumination  of  the 
lamps,  but  the  drawers  of  the  weapons 
regretted  their  impetuosity  the  next  min- 
ute, for  they  were  quickly  disarmed,  either 
by  the  crowd  closing  with  them  or  jolting 
them  into  the  kennel,  which  at  no  time  was 
savoury.  Once,  however,  a tall  young  fel- 
low, who  had  been  struck  by  a stick,  drew 
his  sword  and  stood  against  a lamp-post 
preparatory  to  charging  the  crowd.  It 
looked  as  if  those  who  interfered  with  him 
would  suffer,  and  a space  was  soon  cleared 
in  front  of  him.  At  that  instant,  however, 
he  was  throv/n  to  the  ground  by  the  assault 
of  a previously  unseen  foe:  a boy  dropped 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  57 

upon  him  from  the  lamp-post  and  sent  his 
sword  flying-,  while  the  crowd  cheered  and 
jeered  in  turn. 

At  intervals  a roar  would  arise,  and  the 
people  would  part  before  the  frantic  flight 
of  a pickpocket,  pursued  and  belaboured  in 
his  rush  by  a dozen  apprentices,  who  car- 
ried sticks  and  straps,  and  were  well  able 
to  use  both. 

But  a few  minutes  after  Garrick,  Gold- 
smith and  Burke  reached  the  road,  all  the 
energies  of  the  crowds  seemed  to  be 
directed  upon  one  object,  and  there  was 
aery  of,  “Here  they  come — here  she  comes 
— a cheer  for  Mrs.  Baddeley !” 

“O  Lord,”  cried  Garrick,  “they  have 
gone  so  far  as  to  choose  Sophia  Baddeley 
for  their  experiment!  ” 

“ Their  notion  clearly  is  not  to  do  things 
by  degrees,  ” said  Goldsmith.  “ They  might 
have  begun  with  a less  conspicuous  per- 
son than  Mrs.  Baddeley.  There  are  many 
gradations  in  colour  between  black  and 
white.” 

“But  not  between  black  and  White’s,” 
said  Burke.  “ This  notion  is  well  worthy 
of  the  wit  of  White’s.” 

“Sophia  is  not  among  the  gradations 
that  Goldsmith  speaks  of,”  said  Garrick. 
“But  whatever  be  the  result  of  this  jerk 


58  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

into  prominence,  it  cannot  fail  to  increase 
her  popularity  at  the  playhouse.” 

“That’s  the  standpoint  from  which  a 
g*ood  manager  regards  such  a scene  as 
this,”  said  Burke.  “Sophia  will  claim  an 
extra  twenty  guineas  a week  after  to-night.” 
“By  my  soul!”  cried  Goldsmith,  “she 
looks  as  if  she  would  give  double  that  sum 
to  be  safe  at  home  in  bed.” 

The  cheers  of  the  .crowd  increased  as 
the  chair  containing  Mrs.  Baddeley,  the 
actress,  was  borne  along,  the  lady  smiling 
in  a half-hearted  way  through  her  paint. 
On  each  side  of  the  chair,  but  some  short 
distance  in  front,  were  four  link-boys  in 
various  liveries,  shining  with  gold  and  sil- 
ver lace.  In  place  of  footmen,  however, 
there  walked  two  rows  of  gentlemen  on 
each  side  of  the  chair.  They  were  all 
splendidly  dressed,  and  they  carried  their 
swords  drawn.  At  the  head  of  the  escort 
on  one  side  was  the  well  known  young  Lord 
Conway,  and  at  the  other  side  Mr.  Hanger, 
equally  well  known  as  a leader  of  fashion. 
Lord  Stanley  was  immediately  behind  his 
friend  Conway,  and  almost  every  other 
member  of  the  lady’s  escort  was  a young 
nobleman  or  the  heir  to  a peerage. 

The  lines  extended  to  a second  chair,  in 
which  Mrs.  Abington  was  seated,  smiling 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  59 

“Very  much  more  naturally  than 

Mrs.  Baddeley,”  Burke  remarked. 

^ “Oh,  yes,”  cried  Goldsmith,  “she  was 
always  the  better  actress.  I am  fortunate 
in  having  her  in  my  new  comedy.” 

“ The  Duchesses  have  become  jealous  of 
the  sway  of  Mrs.  Abington,”  said  Garrick, 
alluding  to  the  fact  that  the  fashions  in 
dress  had  been  for  several  years  controlled 
by  that  lovely  and  accomplished  actress. 

“And  young  Lord  Conway  and  his 
friends  have  become  tired  of  the  sway  of 
the  Duchesses,”  said  Burke. 

“ My  Lord  Stanley  looked  as  if  he  were 
pretty  nigh  weary  of  his  Duchess’s  sway,” 
said  Garrick.  “ I wonder  if  he  fancies  that 
his  joining  that  band  will  emancipate  him.  ” 

“If  so  he  is  in  error,”  said  Burke. 
“ The  Duchess  of  Argyll  will  never  let  him 
out  of  her  clutches  till  he  is  safely  married 
to  the  Lady  Betty.” 

“ Till  then,  do  you  say?  ” said  Gold- 
smith. “Faith,  sir,  if  he  fancies  he  will 
escape  from  her  clutches  by  marrying  her 
daughter  he  must  have  had  a very  limited 
experience  of  life.  Still,  I think  the  lovely 
young  lady  is  most  to  be  pitied.  You  heard 
the  cold  way  he  talked  of  her  picture  to 
Reynolds.” 

The  engagement  of  Lord  Stanley,  the 


60  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

heir  to  the  earldom  of  Derby,  to  Lady 
Betty  Hamilton,  though  not  formally  an- 
nounced, was  understood  to  be  a fait  ac- 
compli; but  there  were  rumours  that  the 
young  man  had  of  late  been  making  an  ef- 
fort to  release  himself  — that  it  was  only 
with  difficulty  the  Duchess  managed  to  se- 
cure his  attendance  in  public  upon  her 
daughter,  whose  portrait  was  being  painted 
by  Reynolds. 

The  picturesque  procession  went  slowly 
along  amid  the  cheers  of  the  crowds,  and 
certainly  not  without  many  expressions  of 
familiarity  and  friendliness  toward  the  two 
ladies  whose  beauty  of  countenance  and  of 
dress  was  made  apparent  by  the  flambeaux 
of  the  link-boys,  which  also  gleamed  upon 
the  thin  blades  of  the  ladies’ escort.  The 
actresses  were  plainly  more  popular  than 
the  committee  of  the  Pantheon. 

It  was  only  when  the  crowds  were  clos- 
ing in  on  the  end  of  the  procession  that  a 
voice  cried  — 

‘‘Woe  unto  them  I Woe  unto  Aholah  and 
Aholibah!  Woe  unto  ye  who  follow  them  to 
your  own  destruction ! Turn  back  ere  it  be 
too  late ! ” The  discordant  note  came  from 
a Methodist  preacher  who  considered  the 
moment  a seasonable  one  for  an  admonition 
against  the  frivolities  of  the  town. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  61 

The  people  did  not  seem  to  agree  with 
him  in  this  matter.  They  sent  up  a shout 
of  laug-hter,  and  half  a dozen  youths  beg’an 
a travesty  of  a Methodist  service,  introduc- 
ing* all  the  hysterical  cries  and  moans  with 
which  the  early  followers  of  Wesley  punc- 
tuated their  prayers.  In  another  direction 
a ribald  parody  of  a Methodist  hymn  was 
sung*  by  women  as  well  as  men;  but  above 
all  the  mockery  the  stern,  strident  voice  of 
the  preacher  was  heard. 

“ By  my  soul,”  said  Garrick,  “ that  effect 
is  striking*ly  dramatic.  I should  like  to  find 
some  one  who  would  g*ive  me  a play  with 
such  a scene.” 

A g*ood-looking*  young*  officer  in  the  uni- 
form of  the  Guards,  who  was  in  the  act  of 
hurrying*  past  where  Garrick  and  his 
friends  stood,  turned  suddenly  round. 

“I’ll  take  your  order,  sir,”  he  cried. 
“Only  you  will  have  to  pay  me  handsomely.” 

“ What,  Captain  Horneck?  Is  ’t  possible 
that  you  are  a strag*g*ler  from  the  escort  of 
the  two  ladies  who  are  being  feted  to-night?” 
said  Garrick. 

“Hush,  man,  for  Heaven’s  sake,”  cried 
Captain  Horneck  — Goldsmith’s  “Captain 
in  lace.”  “If  Mr.  Burke  had  a suspicion 
that  I was  associated  with  such  a rout  he 
would,  as  the  guardian  of  my  purse  if  not 


62  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

of  my  person,  give  notice  to  my  Lord  Albe- 
marle’s trustees,  and  then  the  Lord  only 
knows  what  would  happen.”  Then  he 
turned  to  Goldsmith.  “ Come  along,  Nolly, 
my  friend,”  he  cried,  putting  his  arm 
through  Oliver’s;  “if  you  want  a scene  for 
your  new  comedy  you  will  find  it  in  the 
Pantheon  to-night.  You  are  not  wearing 
the  peach-bloom  coat,  to  be  sure,  but.  Lord, 
sir ! you  are  not  to  be  resisted,  whatever 
you  wear.” 

“ You,  at  any  rate,  are  not  to  be  resisted, 
my  gallant  Captain,”  said  Goldsmith.  “I 
have  half  a mind  to  see  the  sport  when  the 
ladies’  chairs  stop  at  the  porch  of  the 
Pantheon.” 

“As  a matter  of  course  you  will  come,” 
said  young  Horneck.  “ Let  us  hasten  out 
of  range  of  that  howling.  What  a time  for 
a fellow  to  begin  to  preach  ! ” 

He  hurried  Oliver  away,  taking  charge 
of  him  through  the  crowd  with  his  arm 
across  his  shoulder.*  Garrick  and  Burke 
followed  as  rapidly  as  they  could,  and 
Charles  Horneck  explained  to  them,  as  well 
as  to  his  companion,  that  he  would  have 
been  in  the  escort  of  the  actress,  but  for 
the  fact  that  he  was  about  to  marry  the 
orphan  daughter  of  Lord  Albemarle,  and 
that  his  mother  had  entreated  him  not  to 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  63 

do  anything  that  might  jeopardise  the 
match. 

“You  are  more  discreet  than  Lord 
Stanley,”  said  Garrick. 

“Nay,”  said  Goldsmith.  “’Tis  not  a 
question  of  discretion,  but  of  the  means  to 
an  end.  Our  Captain  in  lace  fears  that  his 
joining  the  escort  would  offend  his  charm- 
ing bride,  but  Lord  Stanley  is  only  afraid 
that  his  act  in  the  same  direction  will  not 
offend  his  Duchess.” 

“You  have  hit  the  nail  on  the  head,  as 
usual,  Nolly,”  said  the  Captain.  “Poor 
Stanley  is  anxious  to  fly  from  his  charmer 
through  any  loop-hole.  But  he  ’ll  not  suc- 
ceed. Why,  sir,  I ’ll  wager  that  if  her 
daughter  Betty  and  the  Duke  were  to  die, 
her  Grace  would  marry  him  herself.” 

“Ay,  assuming  that  a third  Duke  was 
not  forthcoming,”  said  Burke. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


The  party  found,  on  approaching*  the 
Pantheon,  the  advantage  of  being  under 
the  guidance  of  Captain  Horneck.  Without 
his  aid  they  would  have  had  considerable 
difficulty  getting  near  the  porch  of  the 
building,  where  the  crowds  were  most 
dense.  The  young  guardsman,  however, 
pushed  his  way  quite  good-humouredly, 
but  not  the  less  effectively,  through  the 
people,  and  was  followed  by  Goldsmith, 
Garrick  and  Burke  being  a little  way  be- 
hind. But  as  soon  as  the  latter  couple 
came  within  the  light  of  the  hundred  lamps 
which  hung  around  the  porch,  they  were 
recognised  and  cheered  by  the  crowd,  who 
made  a passage  for  them  to  the  entrance 
just  as  Mrs.  Baddeley’s  chair  was  set 
down. 

The  doors  had  been  hastily  closed  and 
half-a-dozen  constables  stationed  in  front 
with  their  staves.  The  gentlemen  of  the 
escort  formed  in  a line  on  each  side  of  her 
chair  to  the  doors,  and  when  the  lady 
stepped  out  — she  could  not  be  persuaded 

64 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  65 

to  do  so  for  some  time  — and  walked  be- 
tween the  ranks  of  her  admirers,  they  took 
off  their  hats  and  lowered  the  points  of 
their  swords,  bowing*  to  the  g*round  with 
g*reater  courtesy  than  they  would  have 
shown  to  either  of  the  royal  Duchesses, 
who  just  at  that  period  were  doing*  their 
best  to  obtain  some  recog*nition. 

Mrs.  Baddeley  had  rehearsed  the  “busi- 
ness ” of  the  part  which  she  had  to  play, 
but  she  was  so  nervous  that  she  forg*ot  her 
words  on  finding*  herself  confronted  by  the 
constables.  She  caug*ht  sig*ht  of  Garrick 
standing*  at  one  side  of  the  door  with  his 
hat  swept  behind  him  as  he  bowed  with 
exquisite  irony  as  she  stopped  short,  and 
the  force  of  habit  was  too  much  for  her. 
Forgetting*  that  she  was  playing  the  part 
of  a grande  dame^  she  turned  in  an  agony 
of  fright  to  Garrick,  raising  her  hands  — 
one  holding  a lace  handkerchief,  the  other  a 
fan  — crying  — 

“La!  Mr.  Garrick,  I’m  so  fluttered 
that  I ’ve  forgot  my  words.  Where ’s  the 
prompter,  sir?  Pray,  what  am  I to  say 
now?  ” 

“Nay,  madam,  I am  not  responsible  for 
this  production,”  said  Garrick  gravely,  and 
there  was  a roar  of  laughter  from  the  pecK 
pie  around  the  porch. 


66  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

The  young  gentlemen  who  had  their 
swords  drawn  were,  however,  extremely 
serious.  They  began  to  perceive  the  pos- 
sibility of  their  heroic  plan  collapsing  into  a 
merry  burlesque,  and  so  young  Mr.  Hanger 
sprang  to  the  side  of  the  lady. 

“ Madam,”  he  cried,  “ honour  me  by  ac- 
cepting my  escort ' into  the  Pantheon. 
What  do  you  mean,  sirrah,  by  shutting 
that  door  in  the  face  of  a lady  visitor  ? ” he 
shouted  to  the  liveried  porter. 

“ Sir,  we  have  orders  from  the  manage- 
ment to  permit  no  players  to  enter,”  replied 
the  man. 

“Nevertheless,  you  will  permit  this 
lady  to  enter,”  said  the  young  gentleman. 
“Come,  sir,  open  the  doors  without  a mo- 
ment’s delay.” 

“I  cannot  act  contrary  to  my  orders, 
sir,”  replied  the  man. 

“ Nay,  Mr.  Hanger,”  replied  the  fright- 
ened actress,  “I  wish  not  to  be  the  cause  of 
a disturbance.  Pray,  sir,  let  me  return  to 
my  chair.” 

“Gentlemen,”  cried  Mr.  Hanger  to  his 
friends,  “I  know  that  it  is  not  your  will 
that  we  should  come  in  active  contest  with 
the  representatives  of  authority ; but  am  I 
right  in  assuming  that  it  is  your  desire  that 
our  honoured  friend,  Mrs.  Baddeley,  should 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  67 

enter  the  Pantheon?”  When  the  cries  of 
assent  came  to  an  end  he  continued,  ‘‘Then, 
sirs,  the  responsibility  for  bloodshed  rests 
with  those  who  oppose  us.  Swords  to  the 
front!  You  will  touch  no  man  with  a point 
unless  he  oppose  you.  Should  a constable 
assault  any  of  this  company  you  will  run 
him  throug-h  without  mercy.  Now,  gentle- 
men.” 

In  an  instant  thirty  sword-blades  were 
radiating  from  the  lady,  and  in  that  fashion 
an  advance  was  made  upon  the  constables, 
who  for  a few  moments  stood  irresolute, 
but  then  — the  points  of  a dozen  swords 
were  within  a yard  of  their  breasts  — low- 
ered their  staves  and  slipped  quietly  aside. 
The  porter,  finding  himself  thus  deserted, 
made  no  attempt  to  withstand  single-handed 
an  attack  converging  upon  the  doors;  he 
hastily  went  through  the  porch,  leaving  the 
doors  wide  apart. 

To  the  sound  of  roars  of  laughter  and 
shouts  of  congratulation  from  the  thousands 
who  blocked  the  road,  Mrs.  Baddeley  and 
her  escort  walked  through  the  porch  and 
on  to  the  rotunda  beyond,  the  swords  being 
sheathed  at  the  entrance. 

It  seemed  as  if  all  the  rank  and  fashion 
of  the  town  had  come  to  the  rotunda  this 
night.  Peeresses  were  on  the  raised  dais 


68  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

by  the  score,  some  of  them  laughing-,  others 
shaking  their  heads  and  doing  their  best  to 
look  scandalised.  Only  one  matron,  how- 
ever, felt  it  imperative  to  leave  the  assem- 
bly and  to  take  her  daughters  with  her. 
She  was  a lady  whose  first  husband  had 
divorced  her,  and  her  daughters  were  ex- 
cessively plain,  in  spite  of  their  masks  of 
paint  and  powder. 

The  Duchess  of  Argyll  stood  in  the 
centre  of  the  dais  by  the  side  of  her  daugh- 
ter, Lady  Betty  Hamilton,  her  figure  as 
graceful  as  it  had  been  twenty  years  be- 
fore, when  she  and  her  sister  Maria,  who 
became  Countess  of  Coventry,  could  not 
walk  down  the  Mall  unless  under  the  pro- 
tection of  a body  of  soldiers,  so  closely  were 
they  pressed  by  the  fashionable  mob  anx- 
ious to  catch  a glimpse  of  the  beautiful 
Miss  Gunnings.  She  had  no  touch  of  car- 
mine or  powder  to  obscure  the  transpar- 
ency of  her  complexion,  and  her  wonderful 
long  eyelashes  needed  no  darkening  to  add 
to  their  silken  effect.  Her  neck  and  shoul- 
ders were  white,  not  with  the  cold  white- 
ness of  snow,  but  with  the  pearl-like  charm 
of  the  white  rose.  The  solid  roundness  of 
her  arms,  and  the  grace  of  every  movement 
that  she  made  with  them,  added  to  the  de- 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  69 

lig-ht  of  those  who  looked  upon  that  lovely 
woman. 

Her  daughter  had  only  a measure  of  her 
mother’s  charm.  Her  features  were  small, 
and  though  her  figure  was  pleasing,  she 
suggested  nothing  of  the  Duchess’s  ele- 
gance and  distinction. 

Both  mother  and  daughter  looked  at 
first  with  scorn  in  their  eyes  at  the  lady 
who  stood  at  one  of  the  doors  of  the  ro- 
tunda, surrounded  by  her  body  guard;  but 
when  they  perceived  that  Lord  Stanley  was 
next  to  her,  they  exchanged  a few  words, 
and  the  scorn  left  their  eyes.  The  Duchess 
even  smiled  at  Lady  Ancaster,  who  stood 
near  her,  and  Lady  Ancaster  shrugged  her 
shoulders  almost  as  naturally  as  if  she  had 
been  a Frenchwoman. 

Cynical  people  who  had  been  watching 
the  Duchess’s  change  of  countenance  also 
shrugged  their  shoulders  (indifferently), 
saying  — 

“Her  Grace  will  not  be  inexorable;  the 
son-in-law  upon  whom  she  has  set  her 
heart,  and  tried  to  set  her  daughter’s  heart 
as  well,  must  not  be  frightened  away.” 

Captain  Horneck  had  gone  up  to  his 
fiancee. 

“ You  were  not  in  that  creature’s  train, 
I hope,”  said  the  lady. 


70  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“I?  Dear  child,  for  what  do  you  take 
me?”  he  said.  “No,  I certainly  was  not 
in  her  train.  I was  with  my  friend  Dr. 
Goldsmith.” 

“If  you  had  been  among  that  woman’s 
escort,  I should  never  have  forgiven  you 
the  impropriety,”  said  she. 

(She  was  inflexible  as  a girl,  but  before 
she  had  been  married  more  than  a year  she 
had  run  away  with  her  husband’s  friend, 
Mr.  Scawen.) 

By  this  time  Lord  Conway  had  had  an 
interview  with  the  management,  and  now 
returned  with  two  of  the  gentlemen  who 
comprised  that  body  to  where  Mrs.  Bad- 
deley  was  standing  simpering  among  her 
admirers. 

“Madam,”  said  Lord  Conway,  “these 
gentlemen  are  anxious  to  offer  you  their 
sincere  apologies  for  the  conduct  of  their 
servants  to-night,  and  to  express  the  hope 
that  you  and  your  friends  will  frequently 
honour  them  by  your  patronage.” 

And  those  were  the  very  words  uttered 
by  the  spokesman  of  the  management,  with 
many  humble  bows,  in  the  presence  of  the 
smiling  actress. 

“ And  now  you  can  send  for  Mrs.  Abing- 
ton,”  said  Lord  Stanley.  “She  agreed  to 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  71 

wait  in  her  chair  until  this  matter  was 
settled.” 

“She  can  take  very  g*ood  care  of  her- 
self,” said  Mrs.  Baddeley  somewhat  curtly. 
Her  frig*ht  had  now  vanished,  and  she  was 
not  disposed  to  underrate  the  importance 
of  her  victory.  She  had  no  particular  wish 
to  divide  the  honours  attached  to  her  posi- 
tion with  another  woman,  much  less  with 
one  who  was  usually  regarded  as  better- 
looking than  herself.  “ Mrs.  Abington  is  a 
little  timid,  my  Lord,”  she  continued;  “she 
may  not  find  herself  quite  at  home  in  this 
assembly.  ’ Tis  a monstrous  fine  place,  to 
be  sure;  but  for  my  part,  I think  Vauxhall 
is  richer  and  in  better  taste.” 

But  in  spite  of  the  indifference  of  Mrs. 
Baddeley,  a message  was  conveyed  to  Mrs. 
Abington,  who  had  not  left  her  chair,  in- 
forming her  of  the  honours  which  were 
being  done  to  the  lady  who  had  entered  the 
room,  and  when  this  news  reached  her  she 
lost  not  a moment  in  hurrying  through  the 
porch  to  the  side  of  her  sister  actress. 

And  then  a remarkable  incident  oc- 
curred, for  the  Duchess  of  Argyll  and  Lady 
Ancaster  stepped  down  from  their  dais  and 
went  to  the  two  actresses,  offering  them 
hands,  and  expressing  the  desire  to  see 


72  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

them  frequently  at  the  assemblies  in  the 
rotunda. 

The  actresses  made  stage  courtesies  and 
returned  thanks  for  the  condescension  of 
the  great  ladies.  The  cynical  ones  laughed 
and  shrugged  their  shoulders  once  more. 

Only  Lord  Stanley  looked  chagrined. 
He  perceived  that  the  Duchess  was  dis- 
posed to  regard  his  freak  in  the  most 
liberal  spirit,  and  he  knew  that  the  point 
of  view  of  the  Duchess  was  the  point  of 
view  of  the  Duchess’s  daughter.  He  felt 
rather  sad  as  he  reflected  upon  the  laxity 
of  mothers  with  daughters  yet  unmarried. 
Could  it  be  that  eligible  suitors  were  grow- 
ing scarce? 

Garrick  was  highly  amused  at  the  little 
scene  that  was  being  played  under  his  eyes ; 
he  considered  himself  a pretty  fair  judge  of 
comedy,  and  he  was  compelled  to  acknowl- 
edge that  he  had  never  witnessed  any  more 
highly  finished  exhibition  of  this  form  of  art. 

His  friend  Goldsmith  had  not  waited  at 
the  door  for  the  arrival  of  Mrs.  Abington. 
He  was  not  wearing  any  of  the  gorgeous 
costumes  in  which  he  liked  to  appear  at 
places  of  amusement,  and  so  he  did  not 
intend  to  remain  in  the  rotunda  for  longer 
than  a few  minutes;  he  was  only  curious  to 
see  what  would  be  the  result  of  the  bold 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  73 

action  of  Lord  Conway  and  his  friends. 
But  when  he  was  watching-  the  act  of  con- 
descension on  the  part  of  the  Duchess  and 
the  Countess,  and  had  had  his  laugh  with 
Burke,  he  heard  a merry  voice  behind  him 
saying  — 

“Is  Dr.  Goldsmith  a modern  Marius, 
weeping  over  the  ruin  of  the  Pantheon?  ” 
“Nay,”  cried  another  voice,  “Dr.  Gold- 
smith is  contemplating  the  writing  of  a his- 
tory of  the  attempted  reformation  of  society 
in  the  eighteenth  century,  through  the 
agency  of  a Greek  temple  known  as  the 
Pantheon  on  the  Oxford  road.” 

He  turned  and  stood  face  to  face  with 
two  lovely  laughing  girls  and  a handsome 
elder  lady,  who  was  pretending  to  look 
scandalised. 

“Ah,  my  dear  Jessamy  Bride  — and  my 
sweet  Little  Comedy!”  he  cried,  as  the 
girls  caught  each  a hand  of  his.  He  had 
dropped  his  hat  in  the  act  of  making  his 
bow  to  Mrs.  Horneck,  the  mother  of  the 
two  girls,  Mary  and  Katherine  — the  latter 
the  wife  of  Mr.  Bunbury.  “ Mrs.  Horneck, 
madam,  I am  your  servant  — and  don’t  I 
look  your  servant,  too,”  he  added,  remem- 
bering that  he  was  not  wearing  his  usual 
gala  dress. 


74 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“You  look  always  the  same  good  friend,” 
said  the  lady. 

“ Nay,”  laughed  Mrs.  Bunbury,  “if  he 
were  your  servant  he  would  take  care,  for 
the  honour  of  the  house,  that  he  was  splen- 
didly dressed ; it  is  not  that  snuff-coloured 
suit  we  should  have  on  him,  but  something 
gorgeous.  What  would  you  say  to  a peach- 
bloom  coat.  Dr.  Goldsmith?” 

(His  coat  of  this  tint  had  become  a 
family  joke  among  the  Hornecks  and  Bun- 
burys.) 

“Well,  if  the  bloom  remain  on  the  peach 
it  would  be  well  enough  in  your  company, 
madam,”  said  Goldsmith,  with  a face  of 
humorous  gravity.  “But  a peach  with  the 
bloom  off  would  be  more  congenial  to  the 
Pantheon  after  to-night.”  He  gave  a glance 
in  the  direction  of  the  group  of  actresses 
and  their  admirers. 

Mrs.  Horneck  looked  serious,  her  two 
daughters  looked  demurely  down. 

“The  air  is  tainted,”  said  Goldsmith, 
solemnly. 

“Yes,”  said  Mrs.  Bunbury,  with  a 
charming  mock  demureness.  “ ’T  is  as 
you  say:  the  Pantheon  will  soon  become  as 
amusing  as  Ranelagh.” 

“I  said  not  so,  madam,”  cried  Gold- 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  75 

smith,  shaking-  his  head.  “As  amusing  — 
amusing ” 

“As  Ranelagh.  Those  were  your  exact 
words,  Doctor,  I assure  you,”  protested 
Little  Comedy.  “Were  they  not,  Mary?” 

“ Oh,  undoubtedly  those  were  his  words 
— only  he  did  not  utter  them,”  replied  the 
Jessamy  Bride. 

“There,  now,  you  will  not  surely  deny 
your  words  in  the  face  of  two  such  wit- 
nesses!” said  Mrs.  Bunbury. 

“I  could  deny  nothing  to  two  such 
faces,”  said  Goldsmith,  “ even  though  one 
of  the  faces  is  that  of  a little  dunce  who 
could  talk  of  Marius  weeping  over  the 
Pantheon.” 

“And  why  should  not  he  weep  over  the 
Pantheon  if  he  saw  good  cause  for  it?”  she 
inquired,  with  her  chin  in  the  air. 

“Ah, why  not  indeed?  Only  he  was  never 
within  reach  of  it,  my  dear,  ” said  Goldsmith. 

“ Psha!  I daresay  Marius  was  no  better 
than  he  need  be,”  cried  the  young  lady. 

“Few  men  are  even  so  good  as  it  is 
necessary  for  them  to  be,”  said  Oliver. 

“ That  depends  upon  their  own  views  as 
to  the  need  of  being  good,”  remarked  Mary. 

“And  so  I say  that  Marius  most  likely 
made  many  excursions  to  the  Pantheon, 
without  the  knowledge  of  his  biographer,” 


76  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

cried  her  sister,  with  an  air  of  worldly  wis- 
dom of  which  a recent  bride  was  so  well 
qualified  to  be  an  exponent. 

“’Twere  vain  to  attempt  to  contend 
ag*ainst  such  wisdom,”  said  Goldsmith. 

“ Nay,  all  thing’s  are  possible,  with  a Pro- 
fessor of  Ancient  History  to  the  Royal 
Academy  of  Arts,”  said  a lady  who  had 
come  up  with  Burke  at  that  moment  — a 
small  but  very  eleg-ant  lady  with  distinction 
in  every  movement,  and  withal  having-  eyes 
sparkling-  with  humour. 

Goldsmith  bowed  low  — again  over  his 
fallen  hat,  on  the  crown  of  which  Little 
Comedy  set  a very  dainty  foot  with  an 
aspect  of  the  sweetest  unconsciousness. 
She  was  a tom-boy  down  to  the  sole  of 
that  dainty  foot. 

“In  the  presence  of  Mrs.Thrale,”  Gold- 
smith began,  but  seeing  the  ill-treatment  to 
which  his  hat  was  subjected,  he  became 
confused,  and  the  compliment  which  he  had 
been  elaborating  dwindled  away  in  a mur- 
mur. 

“Is  it  not  the  business  of  a professor 
to  contend  with  wisdom.  Dr.  Goldsmith?” 
said  Mrs.  Thrale. 

“ Madam,  if  you  say  that  it  is  so,  I will 
prove  that  you  are  wrong  by  declining  to 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  77 

arg*ue  out  the  matter  with  you,”  said  the 
Professor  of  Ancient  History. 

Miss  Horneck’s  face  shone  with  appre- 
ciation of  her  dear  friend’s  quickness  ; but 
the  lively  Mrs.  Thrale  was,  as  usual,  too 
much  engrossed  in  her  own  efforts  to  be 
brilliant  to  be  able  to  pay  any  attention  to 
the  words  of  so  clumsy  a person  as  Oliver 
Goldsmith,  and  one  who,  moreover,  declined 
to  join  with  so  many  other  distinguished 
persons  in  accepting  her  patronage. 

She  found  it  to  her  advantage  to  launch 
into  a series  of  sarcasms  — most  of  which 
had  been  said  at  least  once  before  — at  the 
expense  of  the  Duchess  of  Argyll  and  Lady 
Ancaster,  and  finding  that  Goldsmith  was 
more  busily  engaged  in  listening  to  Mrs. 
Bunbury’s  mock  apologies  for  the  injury 
she  had  done  to  his  hat  than  in  attending  to 
her  jeux  d" esprit^  she  turned  her  back  upon 
him,  and  gave  Burke  and  Mrs.  Horneck  the 
benefit  of  her  remarks. 

Goldsmith  continued  taking  part  in  the 
fun  made  by  Little  Comedy,  pointing  out  to 
her  the  details  of  his  hat’s  disfigurement, 
when,  suddenly  turning  in  the  direction  of 
Mary  Horneck,  who  was  standing  behind 
her  mother,  the  jocular  remark  died  on  his 
lips.  He  saw  the  expression  of  dismay  — 
worse  than  dismay  — which  was  on  the 
girl’s  face  as  she  gazed  across  the  rotunda. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


Goldsmith  followed  the  direction  of  her 
eyes  and  saw  that  their  object  was  a man 
in  the  uniform  of  an  officer,  who  was  chat- 
ting- with  Mrs.  Abington.  He  was  a show- 
ily handsome  man,  thoug-h  his  face  bore 
evidence  of  some  dissipated  years,  and 
there  was  an  undoubted  swag-ger  in  his 
bearing. 

Meanwhile  Goldsmith  watched  him. 
The  man  caught  sight  of  Miss  Horneck  and 
gave  a slight  start,  his  jaw  falling  for  an 
instant  — only  for  an  instant,  however; 
then  he  recovered  himself  and  made  an 
elaborate  bow  to  the  girl  across  the  room. 

Goldsmith  turned  to  Miss  Horneck  and 
perceived  that  her  face  had  become  white; 
she  returned  very  coldly  the  man’s  recog- 
nition, and  only  after  the  lapse  of  some  sec- 
onds. Goldsmith  possessed  naturally  both 
delicacy  of  feeling  and  tact.  He  did  not  al- 
low the  girl  to  see  that  he  had  been  a wit- 
ness of  a rencontre  which  evidently  was  pain- 
ful to  her;  but  he  spoke  to  her  sister,  who 
was  amusing  her  husband  by  a scarcely 

78 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  79 

noticeable  imitation  of  a certain  great  lady 
known  to  both  of  them;  and,  professing- 
himself  woefully  ignorant  as  io  person- 
nel of  the  majority  of  the  people  who  were 
present,  inquired  first  what  was  the  name 
of  a gentleman  wearing  a star  and  talking 
to  a group  of  apparently  interested  ladies, 
and  then  of  the  officer  whom  he  had  seen 
make  that  elaborate  bow. 

Mrs.  Bunbury  was  able  to  tell  him  who 
was  the  gentleman  with  the  star,  but  after 
glancing  casually  at  the  other  man,  she 
shook  her  head. 

“I  have  never  seen  him  before,”  she 
said.  “I  don’t  think  he  can  be  any  one  in 
particular.  The  people  whom  we  don’t 
know  are  usually  nobodies  — until  we  come 
to  know  them.” 

“That  is  quite  reasonable,”  said  he. 
“It  is  a distinction  to  become  your  friend. 
It  will  be  remembered  in  my  favour  when 
my  efforts  as  Professor  at  the  Academy 
are  forgotten.” 

His  last  sentence  was  unheard,  for  Mrs. 
Bunbury  was  giving  all  her  attention  to  her 
sister,  of  whose  face  she  had  just  caught  a 
glimpse. 

“Heavens,  child!”  she  whispered  to 
her,  “ what  is  the  matter  with  you  ? ” 

“ What  should  be  the  matter  with  me?  ” 


80  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

said  Mary.  “What,  except  — oh,  this  place 
is  stifling* ! And  the  manag*ers  boasted  that 
it  would  be  cool  and  well  ventilated  at  all 
times ! ” 

“My  dear  g*irl,  you’ll  be  quite  rig*ht 
when  I take  you  into  the  air,”  said  Bunbury. 

“No,  no;  I do  not  need  to  leave  the  ro- 
tunda; I shall  be  myself  in  a moment,”  said 
the  g*irl  somewhat  huskily  and  spasmodic- 
ally. “For  heaven’s  sake  don’t  stare  so, 
child,”  she  added  to  her  sister,  making  a 
pitiful  attempt  to  laugh. 

“But,  my  dear ” began  Mrs.  Bun- 

bury ; she  was  interrupted  by  Mary. 

“Nay,”  she  cried,  “I  will  not  have  our 
mother  alarmed,  and  — well,  every  one 
knows  what  a tongue  Mrs.  Thrale  has.  Oh, 
no ; already  the  faintness  has  passed  away. 
What  should  one  fear  with  a doctor  in  one’s 
company?  Come,  Dr.  Goldsmith,  you  are 
a sensible  person.  You  do  not  make  a fuss. 
Lend  me  your  arm,  if  you  please.” 

“With  all  pleasure  in  life,”  cried  Oliver. 

He  offered  her  his  arm,  and  she  laid  her 
hand  upon  it.  He  could  feel  how  greatly 
she  was  trembling. 

When  they  had  taken  a few  steps  away 
Mary  looked  back  at  her  sister  and  Bun- 
bury and  smiled  reassuringly  at  them.  Her 
companion  saw  that,  immediately  after- 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  81 

wards,  her  glance  went  in  the  direction  of 
the  officer  who  had  bowed  to  her. 

“ Take  me  up  to  one  of  the  galleries,  my 
dear  friend,”  she  said.  “Take  me  some- 
where — some  place  away  from  here  — any 
place  away  from  here.” 

He  brought  her  to  an  alcove  off  one  of 
the  galleries  where  only  one  sconce  with 
wax  candles  was  alight. 

“Why  should  you  tremble,  my  dear 
girl?”  said  he.  “What  is  there  to  be 
afraid  of?  I am  your  friend  — you  know 
that  I would  die  to  save  you  from  the  least 
trouble.” 

“Trouble?  Who  said  anything  about 
trouble?”  she  cried.  “I  am  in  no  trouble 
— only  for  the  trouble  I am  giving  you,  dear 
Goldsmith.  And  you  did  not  come  in  the 
bloom-tinted  coat  after  all.” 

He  made  no  reply  to  her  spasmodic 
utterances.  The  long  silence  was  broken 
only  by  the  playing  of  the  band,  following 
Madame  Agujari’s  song — the  hum  of  voices 
and  laughter  from  the  well-dressed  mob  in 
the  rotunda  and  around  the  galleries. 

At  last  the  girl  put  her  hand  again  upon 
his  arm,  saying  — 

“I  wonder  what  you  think  of  this  busi- 
ness, my  dear  friend  — I wonder  what  you 
think  of  your  Jessamy  Bride.” 


82  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

‘‘I  think  nothing*  but  what  is  g*ood  of 
you,  my  dear,”  said  he  tenderly.  “But  if 
you  can  tell  me  of  the  matter  that  troubles 
you,  I think  I may  be  able  to  make  you  see 
that  it  should  not  be  a trouble  to  you  for  a 
moment.  Why,  what  can  possibly  have 
happened  since  we  were  all  so  merry  in 
France  tog*ether?” 

“Nothing*  — nothing*  has  happened  — I 
give  you  my  word  upon  it,”  she  said.  “ Oh, 
I feel  that  you  are  altogether  right.  I have 
no  cause  to  be  frightened  — no  cause  to  be 
troubled.  Why,  if  it  came  to  fighting,  have 
not  I a brother?  Ah,  I had  much  better 
say  nothing  more.  You  could  not  under- 
stand— psha!  there  is  nothing  to  be  under- 
stood, dear  Dr.  Goldsmith ; girls  are  foolish 
creatures.” 

“Is  it  nothing  to  you  that  we  have  been 
friends  so  long,  dear  child?  ” said  he.  “Is 
it  not  possible  for  you  to  let  me  have  your 
confidence?  Think  if  it  be  possible,  Mary. 
'I  am  not  a wise  man  where  my  own  affairs 
are  concerned,  but  I feel  that  for  others  — 
for  you,  my  dear  — ah,  child,  don’t  you 
know  that  if  you  share  a secret  trouble 
with  another  its  poignancy  is  blunted?  ” 

“I  have  never  had  consolation  except 
from  you,”  said  the  girl.  “But  this  — this 
— oh,  my  friend,  by  what  means  did  you 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  83 

look  into  a woman’s  soul  to  enable  you  to 
write  those  lines  — 

^ When  lovely  woman  stoops  to  folly, 

And  finds  too  late  . . . 

There  was  a long*  pause  before  he 
started  up,  with  his  hand  pressed  to  his 
forehead.  He  looked  at  her  strangely  for 
a moment,  and  then  walked  slowly  away 
from  her  with  his  head  bent.  Before  he 
had  taken  more  than  a dozen  steps,  how- 
ever, he  stopped,  and,  after  another  mo- 
ment of  indecision,  hastened  back  to  her 
and  offered  her  his  hand,  saying  — 

“ I am  but  a man ; I can  think  nothing  of 
you  but  what  is  good.” 

“Yes,”  she  said;  “it  is  only  a woman 
who  can  think  everything  that  is  evil  about 
a woman.  It  is  not  by  men  that  women  are 
deceived  to  their  own  destruction,  but  by 
women.” 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  laid  her  hand 
upon  his  arm  once  again. 

“Let  us  go  away,”  she  said.  “I  am 
sick  of  this  place.  There  is  no  corner  of  it 
that  is  not  penetrated  by  the  Agujari’s 
singing.  Was  there  ever  any  singing  so 
detestable?  And  they  pay  her  fifty  guineas 
a song!  I would  pay  fifty  guineas  to  get 
out  of  earshot  of  the  best  of  her  efforts.” 
Her  laugh  had  a shrill  note  that  caused 


84  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

it  to  sound  very  pitiful  to  the  man  who 
heard  it. 

He  spoke  no  word,  but  led  her  tenderly 
back  to  where  her  mother  was  standing* 
with  Burke  and  her  son. 

“I  do  hope  that  you  have  not  missed 
Ag*ujari’s  last  song*,”  said  Mrs.  Horneck. 
“We  have  been  entranced  with  its  melody.” 

“Oh,  no;  I have  missed  no  note  of  it— 
no  note.  Was  there  ever  anything*  so  de- 
licious— so  liquid-sweet?  Is  it  not  time 
that  we  went  homeward,  mother?  I do 
feel  a little  tired,  in  spite  of  the  Ag*ujari.” 

“At  what  an  admirable  period  we  have 
arrived  in  the  world’s  history ! ” said 
Burke.  “It  is  the  young*  miss  in  these 
days  who  insists  on  her  mother’s  keeping* 
g*ood  hours.  How  wise  we  are  all  g*rowing* ! ” 

“ Mary  was  always  a wise  little  per- 
son,” said  Mrs.  Horneck. 

“Wise?  Oh,  let  us  g*o  home!”  said 
the  g*irl  wearily. 

“Dr.  Goldsmith  will,  I am  sure,  direct 
our  coach  to  be  called,”  said  her  mother. 

Goldsmith  bowed  and  pressed  his  way 
to  the  door,  where  he  told  the  janitor  to  call 
for  Mrs.  Horneck’s  coach. 

He  led  Mary  out  of  the  rotunda,  Burke 
having*  g*one  before  with  the  elder  lady. 
Goldsmith  did  not  fail  to  notice  the  look  of 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  85 

apprehension  on  the  girl’s  face  as  her  eyes 
wandered  around  the  crowd  in  the  porch. 
He  could  hear  the  little  sigh  of  relief  that 
she  gave  after  her  scrutiny. 

The  coach  had  drawn  up  at  the  en- 
trance, and  the  little  party  went  out  into 
the  region  of  flaring  links  and  pitch-scented 
smoke.  While  Goldsmith  was  in  the  act  of 
helping  Mary  Horneck  up  the  steps,  he  was 
furtively  glancing  around,  and  before  she 
had  got  into  a position  for  seating  herself 
by  the  side  of  her  mother,  he  dropped  her 
^ hand  in  so  clumsy  a way  that  several  of  the 
onlookers  laughed.  Then  he  retreated, 
bowing  awkwardly,  and,  to  crown  his  stu- 
pidity, he  turned  round  so  rapidly  and  un- 
expectedly that  he  ran  violently  full-tilt 
against  a gentleman  in  uniform,  who  was 
hurrying  to  the  side  of  the  chariot  as  if  to 
take  leave  of  the  ladies. 

The  crowd  roared  as  the  officer  lost  his 
footing  for  a moment  and  staggered  among 
the  loiterers  in  the  porch,  not  recovering 
himself  until  the  vehicle  had  driven  away. 
Even  then  Goldsmith,  with  disordered  wig, 
was  barring  the  way  to  the  coach,  profusely 
apologising  for  his  awkwardness. 

“ Curse  you  for  a lout ! ” cried  the  officer. 

Goldsmith  put  his  hat  on  his  head. 

“Look  you,  sir!”  he  said.  “I  have 


86  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

offered  you  my  humblest  apologies  for  the 
accident.  If  you  do  not  choose  to  accept 
them,  you  have  but  got  to  say  as  much  and 
I am  at  your  service.  My  name  is  Gold- 
smith, sir  — Oliver  Goldsmith  — and  my 
friend  is  Mr.  Edmund  Burke.  I flatter  my- 
self that  we  are  both  as  well  known  and  of 
as  high  repute  as  yourself,  whoever  you 
may  be.” 

The  onlookers  in  the  porch  laughed, 
those  outside  gave  an  encouraging  cheer, 
while  the  chairmen  and  linkmen,  who  were 
nearly  all  Irish,  shouted  “Well  done,  your 
Honour!  The  little  Doctor  and  Mr.  Burke 
forever!”  For  both  Goldsmith  and  Burke 
were  as  popular  with  the  mob  as  they  were 
in  society. 

While  Goldsmith  stood  facing  the  scowl- 
ing ofl&cer,  an  elderly  gentleman,  in  the  uni- 
form of  a general  and  with  his  breast 
covered  with  orders,  stepped  out  from  the 
side  of  the  porch  and  shook  Oliver  by  the 
hand.  Then  he  turned  to  his  opponent, 
saying  — 

“Dr.  Goldsmith  is  my  friend,  sir.  If 
you  have  any  quarrel  with  him  you  can  let 
me  hear  from  you.  I am  General  Ogle- 
thorpe.” 

“Or  if  it  suits  you  better,  sir,”  said 
another  gentleman  coming  to  Goldsmith’s 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  87 

side,  “you  can  send  your  friend  to  my 
house.  My  name  is  Lord  Clare. 

“ My  Lord,”  cried  the  man,  bowing*  with 
a little  swag*g*er,  “I  have  no  quarrel  with 
Dr.  Goldsmith.  He  has  no  warmer  ad- 
mirer than  myself.  If  in  the  heat  of  the 
moment  I made  use  of  any  expression  that 
one  g*entleman  mig*ht  not  make  use  of 
toward  another,  I ask  Dr.  Goldsmith’s  par- 
don. I have  the  honour  to  wish  your  Lord- 
ship  g*ood-nig*ht.” 

He  bowed  and  made  his  exit. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


When  Goldsmith  reached  his  chambers 
in  Brick  Court,  he  found  awaiting-  him  a let- 
ter from  Colman,  the  lessee  of  Covent 
Garden  Theatre,  to  let  him  know  that 
Woodward  and  Mrs.  Abington  had  resigned 
their  parts  in  his  comedy  which  had  been  in 
rehearsal  for  a week,  and  that  he,  Colman, 
felt  they  were  right  in  doing  so,  as  the  fail- 
ure of  the  piece  was  so  inevitable.  He 
hoped  that  Dr.  Goldsmith  would  be  discreet 
enough  to  sanction  its  withdrawal  while  its 
withdrawal  was  still  possible. 

He  read  this  letter  — one  of  several 
which  he  had  received  from  Colman  during 
the  week  prophesying  disaster  — without 
impatience,  and  threw  it  aside  without  a 
further  thought.  He  had  no  thought  for 
anything  save  the  expression  that  had  been 
on  the  face  of  Mary  Horneck  as  she  had 
spoken  his  lines  — 

‘ ‘ When  lovely  woman  stoops  to  folly, 

And  finds  too  late  . . . . 

‘‘  Too  late ” She  had  not  got  beyond 

those  words.  Her  voice  had  broken,  as  he 
88 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  89 

had  often  believed  that  his  beloved  Olivia’s 
voice  had  broken,  when  trying*  to  sing*  her 
song*  in  which  a woman’s  despair  is  en- 
shrined for  all  ages.  Her  voice  had  broken, 
though  not  with  the  stress  of  tears.  It 
would  not  have  been  so  full  of  despair  if 
tears  had  been  in  her  eyes.  Where  there 
are  tears  there  is  hope.  But  her  voice.  . . 

What  was  he  to  believe?  What  was  he 
to  think  regarding  that  sweet  girl  who  had, 
since  the  first  day  he  had  known  her,  treated 
him  as  no  other  human  being  had  ever 
treated  him?  The  whole  family  of  the 
Hornecks  had  shown  themselves  to  be  his 
best  friends.  They  insisted  on  his  placing 
himself  on  the  most  familiar  footing  in  re- 
gard to  their  house,  and  when  Little  Comedy 
married  she  maintained  the  pleasant  inti- 
macy with  him  which  had  begun  at  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds’s  dinner-table.  The  days 
that  he  spent  at  the  Bunburys’  house  at 
Barton  were  among  the  pleasantest  of  his 
life. 

But,  fond  though  he  was  of  Mrs.  Bun- 
bury,  her  sister  Mary,  his  “ Jessamy  Bride,” 
drew  him  to  her  by  a deeper  and  warmer 
affection.  He  had  felt  from  the  first  hour 
of  meeting  her  that  she  understood  his 
nature  — that  in  her  he  had  at  last  found 
some  one  who  could  give  him  the  sympathy 


90  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

which  he  sought.  More  than  once  she  had 
proved  to  him  that  she  recognised  the  great- 
ness of  his  nature  — his  simplicity,  his  gen- 
erosity, the  tenderness  of  his  heart  for  all 
things  that  suffered,  his  trustfulness,  that 
caused  him  to  be  so  frequently  imposed 
upon,  his  intolerance  of  hypocrisy  and  false 
sentiment,  though  false  sentiment  was  the 
note  of  the  most  successful  productions  of 
the  day.  Above  all,  he  felt  that  she  recog- 
nised his  true  attitude  in  relation  to  English 
literature.  If  he  was  compelled  to  work  in 
uncongenial  channels  in  order  to  earn  his 
daily  bread,  he  himself  never  forgot  what 
he  owed  to  English  literature.  How  nobly 
he  discharged  this  debt  his  “Traveller,” 
“ The  Vicar  of  Wakefield,”  “ The  Deserted 
Village,”  and  “The  Good  Natured  Man” 
testified  at  intervals.  He  felt  that  he  was 
the  truest  poet,  the  sincerest  dramatist, 
of  the  period,  and  he  never  allowed  the 
work  which  he  was  compelled  to  do  for  the 
booksellers  to  turn  him  aside  from  his  high 
aims. 

It  was  because  Mary  Horneck  proved 
to  him  daily  that  she  understood  what  his 
aims  were  he  regarded  her  as  different 
from  all  the  rest  of  the  world.  She  did  not 
talk  to  him  of  sympathising  with  him,  but 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  91 

she  understood  him  and  sympathised  with 
him. 

As  he  lay  back  in  his  chair  now  asking- 
himself  what  he  should  think  of  her,  he  re- 
called every  day  that  he  had  passed  in  her 
company,  from  the  time  of  their  first  meet- 
ing at  Reynolds’s  house  until  he  had  accom- 
panied her  and  her  mother  and  sister  on 
the  tour  through  France.  He  remembered 
how,  the  previous  year,  she  had  stirred  his 
heart  on  returning  from  a long  visit  to  her 
native  Devonshire  by  a clasp  of  the  hand 
and  a look  of  gratitude,  as  she  spoke  the 
name  of  the  book  which  he  had  sent  to  her 
with  a letter.  ‘‘The  Vicar  of  Wakefield” 
was  the  book,  and  she  had  said  — 

“You  can  never,  never  know  what  it 
has  been  to  me  — what  it  has  done  for  me.” 
Her  eyes  had  at  that  time  been  full  of 
tears  of  gratitude  — of  affection,  and  the 
sound  of  her  voice  and  the  sight  of  her 
liquid  eyes  had  overcome  him.  He  knew 
there  was  a bond  between  them  that  would 
not  be  easily  severed. 

But  there  were  no  tears  in  her  eyes  as 
she  spoke  the  words  of  Olivia’s  song. 

What  was  he  to  think  of  her  ? 

One  moment  she  had  been  overflowing 
with  girlish  merriment,  and  then,  on  glanc- 
ing across  the  hall,  her  face  had  become 


92  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

pale  and  her  mood  had  changed  from  one  of 
merriment  to  one  of  despair  — the  despair 
of  a bird  that  finds  itself  in  the  net  of  the 
fowler. 

What  was  he  to  think  of  her  ? 

He  would  not  wrong  her  by  a single 
thought.  He  thought  no  longer  of  her, 
but  of  the  man  whose  sudden  appearance 
before  her  eyes  had,  he  felt  certain,  brought 
about  her  change  of  mood. 

It  was  his  certainty  of  feeling  on  this 
matter  that  had  caused  him  to  guard  her 
jealously  from  the  approach  of  that  man, 
and,  when  he  saw  him  going  toward  the 
coach,  to  prevent  his  further  advance  by  the 
readiest  means  in  his  power.  He  had  had 
no  time  to  elaborate  any  scheme  to  keep  the 
man  away  from  Mary  Horneck,  and  he  had 
been  forced  to  adopt  the  most  rudimentary 
scheme  to  carry  out  his  purpose. 

Well,  he  reflected  upon  the  fact  that  if 
the  scheme  was  rudimentary  it  had  proved 
extremely  effective.  He  had  kept  the  man 
apart  from  the  girls,  and  he  only  regretted 
that  the  man  had  been  so  easily  led  to  re- 
gard the  occurrence  as  an  accident.  He 
would  have  dearly  liked  to  run  the  man 
through  some  vital  part. 

What  was  that  man  to  Mary  Horneck 
that  she  should  be  in  terror  at  the  very 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  93 

sight  of  him  ? That  was  the  question 
which  presented  itself  to  him,  and  his  too 
vivid  imagination  had  no  difficulty  in  sug- 
gesting a number  of  answers  to  it,  but 
through  all  he  kept  his  word  to  her : he 
thought  no  ill  of  her.  He  could  not  enter- 
tain a thought  of  her  that  was  not  wholly 
good.  He  felt  that  her  concern  was  on  ac- 
count of  some  one  else  who  might  be  in  the 
power  of  that  man.  He  knew  how  gener- 
ous she  was  — how  sympathetic.  He  had 
told  her  some  of  his  own  troubles,  and 
though  he  did  so  lightly,  as  was  his  cus- 
tom, she  had  been  deeply  affected  on  hear- 
ing of  them.  Might  it  not  then  be  that 
the  trouble  which  affected  her  was  not  her 
own,  but  another’s? 

Before  he  went  to  bed  he  had  brought 
himself  to  take  this  view  of  the  incident  of 
the  evening,  and  he  felt  much  easier  in  his 
mind. 

Only  he  felt  a twinge  of  regret  when  he 
reflected  that  the  fellow  whose  appearance 
had  deprived  Mary  Horneck  of  an  even- 
ing’s pleasure  had  escaped  with  no  greater 
inconvenience  than  would  be  the  result  of 
an  ordinary  shaking.  His  contempt  for  the 
man  increased  as  he  recalled  how  he  had 
declined  to  prolong  the  quarrel.  If  he  had 
been  anything  of  a man  he  would  have  per- 


94  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

ceived  that  he  was  insulted,  not  by  accident 
but  design,  and  would  have  been  ready  to 
fight. 

Whatever  might  be  the  nature  of  Mary 
Horneck’s  trouble,  the  killing  of  the  man 
would  be  a step  in  the  right  direction. 

It  was  not  until  his  servant,  John  Eyles, 
had  awakened  him  in  the  morning  that  he 
recollected  receiving  a letter  from  Colman 
which  contained  some  unpleasant  news.  He 
could  not  at  first  remember  the  details  of 
the  news,  but  he  was  certain  that  on  receiv- 
ing it  he  had  a definite  idea  that  it  was  un- 
pleasant. When  he  now  read  Colman’s  let- 
ter for  the  second  time  he  found  that  his 
recollection  of  his  first  impression  was  not 
at  fault.  It  was  just  his  luck  : no  man  was 
in  the  habit  of  writing  more  joyous  letters 
or  receiving  more  depressing  than  Gold- 
smith. 

He  hurried  off  to  the  theatre  and  found 
Colman  in  his  most  disagreeable  mood. 
The  actor  and  actress  who  had  resigned 
their  parts  were  just  those  to  whom  he  was 
looking,  Colman  declared,  to  pull  the  play 
through.  He  could  not,  however,  blame 
them,  he  frankly  admitted.  They  were,  he 
said,  dependent  for  a livelihood  upon  their 
association  with  success  on  the  stage,  and 
it  could  not  be  otherwise  than  prejudicial  to 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  95 

their  best  interests  to  be  connected  with  a 
failure. 

This  was  too  much,  even  for  the  long*- 
suffering-  Goldsmith. 

“Is  it  not  somewhat  premature  to  talk 
of  the  failure  of  a play  that  has  not  yet 
been  produced,  Mr.  Colman?”  he  said. 

“ It  mig-ht  be  in  respect  to  most  plays, 
sir,”  replied  Colman;  “but  in  reg-ard  to 
this  particular  play,  I don’t  think  that  one 
need  be  afraid  to  anticipate  by  a week  or 
two  the  verdict  of  the  playg-oers.  Two 
thing’s  in  this  world  are  inevitable,  sir: 
death  and  the  damning-  of  your  comedy.” 

“ I shall  try  to  bear  both  with  fortitude,” 
said  Goldsmith  quietly,  thoug-h  he  was  in- 
wardly very  indig-nant  with  the  manager 
for  his  gratuitous  predictions  of  failure  — 
predictions  which  from  the  first  his  atti- 
tude in  regard  to  the  play  had  contributed 
to  realise.  “I  should  like  to  have  a talk 
with  Mrs.  Abington  and  Woodward,”  he 
added. 

“They  are  in  the  green  room,”  said 
the  manager.  “I  must  say  that  I was  in 
hope.  Dr.  Goldsmith,  that  your  critical 
judgment  of  your  own  work  would  enable 
you  to  see  your  way  to  withdraw  it.” 

“I  decline  to  withdraw  it,  sir,”  said 
Goldsmith. 


% THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“I  have  been  a manager  now  for  some 
years,”  said  Colman,  “ and,  speaking  from 
the  experience  which  I have  gained  at  this 
theatre,  I say  without  hesitation  that  I 
never  had  a piece  offered  to  me  which 
promised  so  complete  a disaster  as  this, 
sir.  Why,  ’t  is  like  no  other  comedy  that 
was  ever  wrote.” 

“That  is  a feature  which  I think  the 
playgoers  will  not  be  slow  to  appreciate,” 
said  Goldsmith.  “Good  Lordl  Mr.  Col- 
man, cannot  you  see  that  what  the  people 
want  nowadays  is  a novelty?” 

“Ay,  sir;  but  there  are  novelties  and 
novelties,  and  this  novelty  of  yours  is  not 
to  their  taste.  ’T  is  not  a comedy  of  the 
pothouse  that ’s  the  novelty  genteel  people 
want  in  these  days ; and  mark  my  words, 
sir,  the  bringing  on  of  that  vulgar  young 
boor  — what’s  the  fellow’s  name? — Lump- 
kin, in  his  pothouse,  and  the  unworthy 
sneers  against  the  refinement  and  sensibil- 
ity of  the  period  — the  fellow  who  talks  of 
his  bear  only  dancing  to  the  genteelest  of 
tunes  — all  this.  Dr.  Goldsmith,  I pledge 
you  my  word  and  reputation  as  a manager, 
will  bring  about  an  early  fall  of  the  curtain.  ” 
“An  early  fall  of  the  curtain?  ” 

“Even  so,  sir;  for  the  people  in  the 


THE  JESSAMT  BRIDE  97 

house  will  not  permit  another  scene  beyond 
that  of  your  pothouse  to  be  set.” 

“Let  me  tell  you,  Mr.  Colman,  that  the 
Three  Pigeons  is  an  hostelry,  not  a pot- 
. house.” 

“ The  playgoers  will  damn  it  if  it  were 
e’en  a Bishop’s  palace.” 

“ Which  you  think  most  secure  against 
such  a fate.  Nay,  sir,  let  us  not  apply  the 
doctrine  of  predestination  to  a comedy. 
Men  have  gone  mad  through  believing  that 
they  had  no  chance  of  being  saved  from  the 
Pit.  Pray  let  not  us  take  so  gloomy  a view 
of  the  hereafter  of  our  play.” 

“Of  your  play,  sir,  by  your  leave.  I 
have  no  mind  to  accept  even  a share  of 
its  paternity,  though  I know  that  I cannot 
escape  blame  for  having  anything  to  do 
with  its  production.” 

“If  you  are  so  anxious  to  decline  the 
responsibilities  of  a father  in  respect  to  it. 
sir,  I must  beg  that  you  will  not  feel  called 
upon  to  act  with  the  cruelty  of  a step-father 
towards  it.” 

Goldsmith  bowed  in  his  pleasantest  man- 
ner as  he  left  the  manager’s  ofi&ce  and  went 
to  the  green  room. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


The  attitude  of  Colman  in  reg-ard  to  the 
comedy  was  quite  in  keeping*  with  the  tra- 
ditions of  the  stag*e  of  the  eig*hteenth  cen- 
tury, nor  was  it  so  contrary  to  the  tra- 
ditions of  the  nineteenth  century.  Colman, 
like  the  rest  of  his  profession  — not  even 
excepting*  Garrick  — possessed  only  a small 
amount  of  knowledg*e  as  to  what  play- 
g*oers  desired  to  have  presented  to  them. 
Whatever  successes  he  achieved  were  cer- 
tainly not  due  to  his  own  acumen.  He  had 
no  idea  that  audiences  had  grown  tired 
of  stilted  blank  verse  tragedies  and  com- 
edies constructed  on  the  most  conventional 
lines,  with  plentiful  allusions  to  heathen 
deities,  but  a plentiful  lack  of  human  nat- 
ure. Such  plays  had  succeeded  in  his 
hands  previously,  and  he  could  see  no  rea- 
son why  he  should  substitute  for  them  any- 
thing more  natural.  He  had  no  idea  that 
playgoers  were  ready  to  hail  with  pleasure 
a comedy  founded  upon  scenes  of  everyday 
life,  not  upon  the  spurious  sentimentality 
of  an  artificial  age. 


98 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  99 

He  had  produced  ‘‘The  Good  Natured 
Man  ” some  years  before,  and  had  made 
money  by  the  transaction.  But  the  shrieks 
of  the  shallow  critics  who  had  condemned 
the  introduction  of  the  low-life  personag-es 
into  that  play  were  still  ringing-  in  his  ears; 
so,  when  he  found  that  the  leading  charac- 
teristics of  these  personages  were  not  only 
introduced  but  actually  intensified  in  the 
new  comedy,  which  the  author  had  named 
provisionally  “The  Mistakes  of  a Night,” 
he  at  first  declined  to  have  anything  to  do 
with  it.  But,  fortunately,  Goldsmith  had 
influential  friends  — friends  who,  like  Dr. 
Johnson  and  Bishop  Percy,  had  recognised 
his  genius  when  he  was  living  in  a garret 
and  before  he  had  written  anything  beyond 
a few  desultory  essays  — and  they  brought 
all  their  influence  to  bear  upon  the  Covent 
Garden  manager.  He  accepted  the  comedy, 
but  laid  it  aside  for  several  months,  and 
only  grudgingly,  at  last,  consented  to  put  it 
in  rehearsal. 

Daily,  when  Goldsmith  attended  the  re- 
hearsals, the  manager  did  his  best  to  de- 
preciate the  piece,  shaking  his  head  over 
some  scenes,  shrugging  his  shoulders  over 
others,  and  asking  the  author  if  he  actually 
meant  to  allow  certain  portions  of  the  dia- 
logue to  be  spoken  as  he  had  written  them. 


100  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

This  attitude  would  have  discouraged  a 
man  less  certain  of  his  position  than  Gold- 
smith. It  did  not  discourage  him,  how- 
ever, but  its  effect  was  soon  perceptible 
upon  the  members  of  the  company.  They 
rehearsed  in  a half-hearted  way,  and  ac- 
cepted Goldsmith’s  suggestions  with  de- 
mur. 

At  the  end  of  a week  Gentleman  Smith, 
who  had  been  cast  for  Young  Marlow, 
threw  up  the  part,  and  Colman  inquired  of 
Goldsmith  if  he  was  serious  in  his  intention 
to  continue  rehearsing  the  piece.  In  a mo- 
ment Goldsmith  assured  him  that  he  meant 
to  perform  his  part  of  the  contract  with  the 
manager,  and  that  he  would  tolerate  no 
backing  out  of  that  same  contract  by  the 
manager.  At  his  friend  Shuter’s  sugges- 
tion, the  part  was  handed  over  to  Lee 
Lewes. 

After  this,  it  might  at  least  have  been 
expected  that  Colman  would  make  the  best 
of  what  he  believed  to  be  a bad  matter,  and 
give  the  play  every  chance  of  success.  On 
the  contrary,  however,  he  was  stupid  even 
for  the  manager  of  a theatre,  and  was  at 
the  pains  to  decry  the  play  upon  every  pos- 
sible occasion.  Having  predicted  failure 
for  it,  he  seemed  determined  to  do  his  best 
to  cause  his  prophecies  to  be  realized.  At 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  101 

rehearsal  he  provoked  Goldsmith  almost 
beyond  endurance  by  his  sneers,  and  act- 
ually encourag-ed  the  members  of  his  own 
company  in  their  frivolous  complaints  re- 
garding* their  dialogue.  He  spoke  the 
truth  to  Goldsmith  when  he  said  he  was 
not  surprised  that  Woodward  and  Mrs. 
Abington  had  thrown  up  their  parts:  he 
would  have  been  greatly  surprised  if  they 
had  continued  rehearsing. 

When  the  unfortunate  author  now  en- 
tered the  green  room,  the  buzz  of  conver- 
sation which  had  been  audible  outside 
ceased  in  an  instant.  He  knew  that  he  had 
formed  the  subject  of  the  conversation, 
and  he  could  not  doubt  what  was  its  nature. 
For  a moment  he  was  tempted  to  turn 
round  and  go  back  to  Colman  in  order  to 
tell  him  that  he  would  withdraw  the  play. 
The  temptation  lasted  but  a moment,  how- 
ever: the  spirit  of  determination  which 
had  carried  him  through  many  difficulties 
— that  spirit  which  Reynolds  appreciated 
and  had  embodied  in  his  portrait  — came 
to  his  aid.  He  walked  boldly  into  the  green 
room  and  shook  hands  with  both  Wood- 
ward and  Mrs.  Abington. 

“I  am  greatly  mortified  at  the  news 
which  I have  just  had  from  Mr.  Colman,” 
he  said;  “but  I am  sure  that  you  have  not 


102  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

taken  this  serious  step  without  due  con- 
sideration, so  I need  say  no  more  about  it. 
Mr.  Colman  will  be  unable  to  attend  this 
rehearsal,  but  he  is  under  an  agreement 
with  me  to  produce  my  comedy  within  a 
certain  period,  and  he  will  therefore  sanc- 
tion any  step  I may  take  on  his  behalf.  Mr. 
Quick  will,  I hope,  honour  me  by  reading 
the  part  of  Tony  Lumpkin  and  Mrs.  Bulk- 
ley  that  of  Miss  Hardcastle,  so  that  there 
need  be  no  delay  in  the  rehearsal.” 

The  members  of  the  company  were 
somewhat  startled  by  the  tone  adopted  by 
the  man  who  had  previously  been  anything 
but  fluent  in  his  speech,  and  who  had  sub- 
mitted with  patience  to  the  sneers  of  the 
manager.  They  now  began  to  perceive 
something  of  the  character  of  the  man 
whose  life  had  been  a fierce  struggle  with 
adversity,  but  who  even  in  his  wretched 
garret  knew  what  was  due  to  himself  and 
to  his  art,  and  did  not  hesitate  to  kick 
downstairs  the  emissary  from  the  govern- 
ment that  offered  him  employment  as  a 
libeller. 

“Sir,”  cried  the  impulsive  Mrs.  Bulk- 
ley,  putting  out  her  hand  to  him  — “Sir, 
you  are  not  only  a genius,  you  are  a man  as 
well,  and  it  will  not  be  my  fault  if  this  com- 
edy of  yours  does  not  turn  out  a success. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  103 

You  have  been  badly  treated,  Dr.  Gold- 
smith, and  you  have  borne  your  ill-treat- 
ment nobly.  For  myself,  sir,  I say  that  I 
shall  be  proud  to  appear  in  your  piece.” 

“ Madam,”  said  Goldsmith,  “you  over- 
whelm me  with  your  kindness.  As  for  ill- 
treatment,  I have  nothing-  to  complain  of  so 
far  as  the  ladies  and  g-entlemen  of  the  com- 
pany are  concerned,  and  any  one  who  ven- 
tures to  assert  that  I bear  ill-will  toward 
Mr.  Woodward  and  Mrs.  Abing-ton  I shall 
regard  as  having  put  an  aifront  upon  me. 
Before  a fortnight  has  passed  I know  that 
they  will  be  overcome  by  chagrin  at  their 
rejection  of  the  opportunity  that  was  of- 
fered them  of  being  associated  with  the  suc- 
cess of  this  play,  for  it  will  be  a success,  in 
spite  of  the  untoward  circumstances  inci- 
dental to  its  birth.” 

He  bowed  several  times  around  the 
company,  and  he  did  it  so  awkwardly  that 
he  immediately  gained  the  sympathy  and 
good-will  of  all  the  actors:  they  reflected 
how  much  better  they  could  do  it,  and  that, 
of  course,  caused  them  to  feel  well  disposed 
towards  Goldsmith. 

“ You  mean  to  give  the  comedy  another 
name,  sir,  I think,”  said  Shuter,  who  was 
cast  for  the  part  of  Old  Hardcastle. 

“ You  may  be  sure  that  a name  will  be 


104  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

forthcoming-,”  said  Goldsmith.  ‘‘Lord,  sir, 
I am  too  g-ood  a Christian  not  to  know  that 
if  an  accident  was  to  happen  to  my  bantling 
before  it  is  christened  it  would  be  damned 
to  a certainty.” 

The  rehearsal  this  day  was  the  most 
promising  that  had  yet  taken  place.  Col- 
man  did  not  put  in  an  appearance,  conse- 
quently the  disheartening  influence  of  his 
presence  was  not  felt.  The  broadly  com- 
ical scenes  were  acted  with  some  spirit,  and 
though  it  was  quite  apparent  to  Goldsmith 
that  none  of  the  company  believed  that  the 
play  would  be  a success,  yet  the  members 
did  not  work,  as  they  had  worked  hitherto, 
on  the  assumption  that  its  failure  was  in- 
evitable. 

On  the  whole,  he  left  the  theatre  with  a 
lighter  heart  than  he  had  had  since  the 
first  rehearsal.  It  was  not  until  he  re- 
turned to  his  chambers  to  dress  for  the 
evening  that  he  recollected  he  had  not  yet 
arrived  at  a wholly  satisfactory  solution  of 
the  question  which  had  kept  him  awake 
during  the  greater  part  of  the  night. 

The  words  that  Mary  Horneck  had 
spoken  and  the  look  there  was  in  her  eyes 
at  the  same  moment  had  yet  to  be  explained. 

He  seated  himself  at  his  desk  with  his 
hand  to  his  head,  his  elbow  resting  on  a 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  lOS 

sheet  of  paper  placed  ready  for  his  pen. 
After  half-an-hour’s  thought  his  hand  went 
mechanically  to  his  tray  of  pens.  Picking 
one  up  with  a sigh,  he  began  to  write. 

Verse  after  verse  appeared  upon  the  pa- 
per— the  love-song  of  a man  who  feels  that 
love  is  shut  out  from  his  life  for  evermore, 
but  whose  only  consolation  in  life  is  love. 

After  an  hour’s  fluent  writing  he  laid 
down  the  pen  and  once  again  rested  his 
head  on  his  hand.  He  had  not  the  courage 
to  read  what  he  had  written.  His  desk  was 
full  of  such  verses,  written  with  unaffected 
sincerity  when  every  one  around  him  was 
engaged  in  composing  verses  which  were 
regarded  worthy  of  admiration  only  in  pro- 
portion as  they  were  artificial. 

He  wondered,  as  he  sat  there,  what 
would  be  the  result  of  his  sending  to  Mary 
Horneck  one  of  those  poems  which  his 
heart  had  sung  to  her.  Would  she  be 
shocked  at  his  presumption  in  venturing  to 
love  her?  Would  his  delightful  relations 
with  her  and  her  family  be  changed  when 
it  became  known  that  he  had  not  been 
satisfied  with  the,friendship  which  he  had 
enjoyed  for  some  years,  but  had  hoped  for 
a response  to  his  deeper  feeling? 

His  heart  sank  as  he  asked  himself  the 
question. 


106  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“ How  is  it  that  I seem  ridiculous  as 
a lover  even  to  myself?”  he  muttered. 
“ Why  has  God  laid  upon  me  the  curse  of 
being- a poet?  A poet  is  the  chronicler  of 
the  loves  of  others,  but  it  is  thought  mad- 
ness should  he  himself  look  for  the  consola- 
tion of  love.  It  is  the  irony  of  life  that  the 
man  who  is  most  capable  of  deep  feeling 
should  be  forced  to  live  in  loneliness.  How 
the  world  would  pity  a great  painter  who 
was  struck  blind  — a great  orator  struck 
dumb  ! But  the  poet  shut  out  from  love  re- 
ceives no  pity  — no  pity  on  earth  — no  pity 
in  heaven.” 

He  bowed  his  head  down  to  his  hands, 
and  remained  in  that  attitude  for  an  hour. 
Then  he  suddenly  sprang  to  his  feet.  He 
caught  up  the  paper  which  he  had  just  cov- 
ered with  verses,  and  was  in  the  act  of 
tearing  it.  He  did  not  tear  the  sheet  quite 
across,  however;  it  fell  from  his  hand  to 
the  desk  and  lay  there,  a vslight  current  of 
air  from  a window  making  the  torn  edge 
rise  and  fall  as  though  it  lay  upon  the  beat- 
ing heart  of  a woman  whose  lover  was  be- 
side her — that  was  what  the  quivering  mo- 
tion suggested  to  the  poet  who  watched  it. 

“And  I would  have  torn  it  in  pieces  and 
made  a ruin  of  it ! ” he  said.  “Alas  ! alas  ! 
for  the  poor  torn,  fluttering  heart ! ” 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  107 

He  dressed  himself  and  went  out,  but  to 
none  of  his  accustomed  haunts,  where  he 
would  have  been  certain  to  meet  with  some 
of  the  distinguished  men  who  were  re- 
joiced to  be  regarded  as  his  friends.  In 
his  mood  he  knew  that  friendship  could  af- 
ford him  no  solace. 

He  knew  that  to  offer  a man  friendship 
when  love  is  in  his  heart  is  like  giving  a 
loaf  of  bread  to  one  who  is  dying  of  thirst. 


CHAPTER  X. 


For  the  next  two  days  Goldsmith  was 
fully  occupied  making*  such  chang*es  in  his 
play  as  were  suggested  to  him  in  the  course 
of  the  rehearsals.  The  alterations  were 
not  radical,  but  he  felt  that  they  would  be 
improvements,  and  his  judgment  was  rarely 
at  fault.  Moreover,  he  was  quick  to  per- 
ceive in  what  direction  the  strong  points 
and  the  weak  points  of  the  various  members 
of  the  company  lay,  and  he  had  no  hesitation 
in  altering  the  dialogue  so  as  to  give  them 
a better  chance  of  displaying  their  gifts. 
But  not  a line  of  what  Colman  called  the 
“pot-house  scene  ” would  he  change,  not  a 
word  of  the  scene  where  the  farm  servants 
are  being  trained  to  wait  at  table  would  he 
allow  to  be  omitted. 

Colman  declined  to  appear  upon  the 
stage  during  the  rehearsals.  He  seems  to 
have  spent  all  his  spare  time  walking  from 
coffee  house  to  coffee  house  talking  about 
the  play,  its  vulgarity,  and  the  certainty  of 
the  fate  that  was  in  store  for  it.  It  would 

have  been  impossible,  had  he  not  adopted 
108 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  109 

this  remarkable  course,  for  the  people  of 
the  town  to  become  aware,  as  they  certainly 
did,  what  were  his  ideas  reg-arding-  the 
comedy.  When  it  was  produced  with  ex- 
traordinary success,  the  papers  held  the 
manager  up  to  ridicule  daily  for  his  false 
predictions,  and  every  day  a new  set  of 
lampoons  came  from  the  coffee-house  wits 
on  the  same  subject. 

But  though  the  members  of  the  company 
rehearsed  the  play  loyally,  some  of  them 
were  doubtful  about  the  scene  at  the  Three 
Pigeons,  and  did  not  hesitate  to  express 
their  fears  to  Goldsmith.  They  wondered 
if  he  might  not  see  his  way  to  substitute 
for  that  scene  one  which  could  not  possibly 
be  thought  offensive  by  any  section  of  play- 
goers. Was  it  not  a pity,  one  of  them  asked 
him,  to  run  a chance  of  failure  when  it 
might  be  so  easily  avoided  ? 

To  all  of  these  remonstrances  he  had 
but  one  answer  : the  play  must  stand  or  fall 
by  the  scenes  which  were  regarded  as 
ungenteel.  He  had  written  it,  he  said,  for 
the  sake  of  expressing  his  convictions 
through  the  medium  of  these  particular 
scenes,  and  he  was  content  to  accept  the 
verdict  of  the  playgoers  on  the  point  in 
question.  Why  he  had  brought  on  those 
scenes  so  early  in  the  play  was  that  the 


no  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

playg-oers  mig-ht  know  not  to  expect  a senti- 
mental piece,  but  one  that  was  meant  to 
introduce  a natural  school  of  comedy,  with 
no  pretence  to  be  anything*  but  a copy  of  the 
manners  of  the  day,  with  no  fine  writing  in 
the  dialogue,  but  only  the  broadest  and 
heartiest  fun. 

“If  the  scenes  are  ungenteel,”  said  he, 
“it  is  because  nature  is  made  up  of  ungen- 
teel  things.  Your  modern  gentleman  is,  to 
my  mind,  much  less  interesting  than  your 
ungenteel  person  ; and  I believe  that  Tony 
Lumpkin  when  admirably  represented,  as 
he  will  be  by  Mr.  Quick,  will  be  a greater 
favourite  with  all  who  come  to  the  playhouse 
than  the  finest  gentleman  who  ever  uttered 
an  artificial  sentiment  to  fall  exquisitely  on 
the  ear  of  a boarding-school  miss.  So,  by 
my  faith  I I’ll  not  interfere  with  his  romp- 
ing.” 

He  was  fluent  and  decisive  on  this  point, 
as  he  was  on  every  other  point  on  which  he 
had  made  up  his  mind.  He  only  stammered 
and  stuttered  when  he  did  not  know  what 
he  was  about  to  say,  and  this  frequently 
arose  from  his  over-sensitiveness  in  regard 
to  the  feelings  of  others — a disability  which 
could  never  be  laid  to  the  charge  of  Dr. 
Johnson,  who  was,  in  consequence,  delight- 
fully fluent. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  111 

On  the  evening-  of  the  third  rehearsal  of 
the  play  with  the  amended  cast,  he  went  to 
Reynolds’s  house  in  Leicester  Square  to 
dine.  He  knew  that  the  Horneck  family 
would  be  there,  and  he  looked  forward  with 
some  degree  of  apprehension  to  his  meeting- 
with  Mary.  He  felt  that  she  might  think 
he  looked  for  some  explanation  of  her 
strang-e  words  spoken  when  he  was  by  her 
side  at  the  Pantheon.  But  he  wanted  no 
explanation  from  her.  The  words  still  lay 
as  a burden  upon  his  heart,  but  he  felt  that 
it  would  pain  her  to  attempt  an  explanation 
of  them,  and  he  was  quite  content  that 
matters  should  remain  as  they  were.  What- 
ever the  words  mig-ht  have  meant,  it  was 
impossible  that  they  could  mean  anything- 
that  might  cause  him  to  think  of  her  with 
less  reverence  and  affection. 

He  arrived  early  at  Reynolds’s  house, 
but  it  did  not  take  him  long  to  find  out  that 
he  was  not  the  first  arrival.  F rom  the  large 
drawing-room  there  came  to  his  ears  the 
sound  of  laughter — such  laughter  as  caused 
him  to  remark  to  the  servant — 

“I  perceive  that  Mr.  Garrick  is  already 
in  the  house,  Ralph.” 

“Mr.  Garrick  has  been  here  with  the 
young  ladies  for  the  past  half-hour,  sir,” 
replied  Ralph. 


112  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“I  shouldn’t  wonder  if,  on  inquiry,  it 
were  found  that  he  has  been  entertaining* 
them,”  said  Goldsmith. 

Ralph,  who  knew  perfectly  well  what 
was  the  exact  form  that  the  entertainment 
assumed,  busied  himself  hanging*  up  the 
visitor’s  hat. 

The  fact  was  that,  for  the  previous 
quarter  of  an  hour,  Garrick  had  been  keep- 
ing Mary  Horneck  and  her  sister,  and  even 
Miss  Reynolds,  in  fits  of  laughter  by  his 
burlesque  account  of  Goldsmith’s  interview 
with  an  amanuensis  who  had  been  recom- 
mended to  him  with  a view  of  saving  him 
much  manual  labour.  Goldsmith  had  told 
him  the  story  originally,  and  the  imagina- 
tion of  Garrick  was  quite  equal  to  the  duty 
of  supplying  all  the  details  necessary  for 
the  burlesque.  He  pretended  to  be  the 
amanuensis  entering  the  room  in  which 
Goldsmith  was  supposed  to  be  seated  work- 
ing laboriously  at  his  “Animated  Nature.” 
“Good  morning,  sir,  good  morning,”  he 
cried,  pretending  to  take  off  his  gloves  and 
shake  the  dust  off  them  with  the  most  per- 
fect self-possession,  previous  to  laying  them 
in  his  hat  on  a chair.  “ Now  mind  you  don’t 
sit  there.  Dr.  Goldsmith,”  he  continued, 
raising  a warning  finger.  A little  motion 
of  his  body,  and  the  pert  amanuensis,  with 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  113 

his  mincing*  ways,  was  transformed  into 
the  awkward  Goldsmith,  shy  and  self-con- 
scious in  the  presence  of  a strang*er,  hasten- 
ing* with  clumsy  politeness  to  g*et  him  a 
chair,  and,  of  course,  drag*g*ing*  forward  the 
very  one  on  which  the  man  had  placed  his 
hat,  ‘‘Now,  now,  now,  what  are  you  about?” 
— once  more  Garrick  was  the  amanuensis. 
“Did  not  I warn  you  to  be  careful  about 
that  chair,  sir?  Eh?  I only  told  you  not 
to  sit  in  it?  Sir,  that  excuse  is  a mere 
quibble — a mere  quibble.  This  must  not 
occur  again,  or  I shall  be  forced  to  dismiss 
you,  and  where  will  you  be  then,  my  good 
sir?  Now  to  business.  Doctor;  but  first 
you  will  tell  your  man  to  make  me  a cup  of 
chocolate — with  milk,  sir — plenty  of  milk, 
and  two  lumps  of  sugar — plantation  sugar, 
sir ; I flatter  myself  that  I am  a patriot — 
none  of  your  foreign  manufactures  for  me. 
And  now  that  I think  on ’t,  your  laundress 
would  do  well  to  wash  and  iron  my  ruffles 
for  me  ; and  mind  you  tell  her  to  be  careful 
of  the  one  with  the  tear  in  it  ” — this  shouted 
half-way  out  of  the  door  through  which  he 
had  shown  Goldsmith  hurrying  with  the 
ruffles  and  the  order  for  the  chocolate. 

Then  came  the  monologue  of  the  aman- 
uensis strolling  about  the  room,  passing  his 
sneering  remarks  at  the  furniture — open- 


114  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

ing-  a letter  which  had  just  come  by  post, 
and  reading  it  sotto  voce.  It  was  supposed 
to  be  from  Filby,  the  tailor,  and  to  state 
that  the  field-marshal’s  uniform  in  which 
Dr.  Goldsmith  meant  to  appear  at  the  next 
masked  ball  at  the  Haymarket  would  be 
ready  in  a few  days,  and  to  inquire  if  Dr. 
Goldsmith  had  made  up  his  mind  as  to  the 
exact  orders  which  he  meant  to  wear,  end- 
ing with  a compliment  upon  Dr.  Goldsmith’s 
good  taste  and  discrimination  in  choosing 
a costume  which  was  so  well  adapted  to  his 
physique,  and  a humble  suggestion  that  it 
should  be  worn  upon  the  occasion  of  the 
first  performance  of  the  new  comedy,  when 
the  writer  hoped  no  objection  would  be 
raised  to  the  hanging  of  a board  in  front  of 
the  author’s  box  with  “Made  by  Filby” 
printed  on  it. 

Garrick’s  reading  of  the  imaginary  let- 
ter, stumbling  over  certain  words  — giving 
an  odd  turn  and  a ludicrous  misreading  to 
a phrase  here  and  there,  and  finally  his 
turning  over  the  letter  and  mumbling  a 
postscript  alluding  to  the  length  of  time  that 
had  passed  since  the  writer  had  received  a 
payment  on  account,  could  not  have  been 
surpassed.  The  effect  of  the  comedy  upon 
the  people  in  the  room  was  immeasurably 
heightened  by  the  entrance  of  Goldsmith  in 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  115 

the  flesh,  when  Garrick,  as  the  amanuensis, 
immediately  walked  to  him  g-ravely  with  the 
scrap  of  paper  which  had  done  duty  as  the 
letter,  in  his  hand,  asking-  him  if  what  was 
written  there  in  black  and  white  about  the 
field-marshal’s  uniform  was  correct,  and  if 
he  meant  to  ag-ree  to  Filby’s  request  to 
wear  it  on  the  first  night  of  the  comedy. 

Goldsmith  perceived  that  Garrick  was 
giving  an  example  of  the  impromptu  enter- 
tainment in  which  he  delighted,  and  at  once 
entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  scene,  saying — 
“ Why,  yes,  sir  ; I have  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  more  credit  should  be  given  to 
a man  who  has  brought  to  a successful  issue 
a campaign  against  the  prejudices  and 
stupidities  of  the  manager  of  a playhouse 
than  to  the  generalissimo  of  an  army  in  the 
field,  so  why  should  not  I wear  a field-mar- 
shal’s uniform,  sir?” 

The  laugh  was  against  Garrick,  which 
pleased  him  greatly,  for  he  knew  that  Gold- 
smith would  feel  that  he  was  sharing  in  the 
entertainment,  and  would  not  regard  it  as  a 
burlesque  upon  himself  personally.  In  an 
instant,  however,  the  actor  had  ceased  to  be 
the  supercilious  amanuensis,  and  became 
David  Garrick,  crying — 

“Nay,  sir,  you  are  out  of  the  play  alto- 
gether. You  are  presuming  to  reply  to 


116  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

the  amanuensis,  which,  I need  scarcely  tell 
a g-entleman  of  your  experience,  is  a pre- 
posterous idea,  and  out  of  all  consistency 
with  nature.” 

Goldsmith  had  shaken  hands  with  all  his 
friends,  and  being*  quite  elated  at  the  suc- 
cess of  his  reply  to  the  brilliant  Garrick, 
did  not  mind  much  what  mig*ht  follow. 

At  what  did  actually  follow  Goldsmith 
laug*hed  as  heartily  as  any  one  in  the  room. 

“ Come,  sir,”  said  the  amanuensis,  “ we 
have  no  time  to  waste  over  empty  civilities. 
We  have  our  ‘Animated  Nature’  to  pro- 
ceed with ; we  cannot  keep  the  world  wait- 
ing* any  longer;  it  matters  not  about  the 
booksellers,  ’t  is  the  world  we  think  of. 
What  is  this?”  — picking  up  an  imaginary 
paper  — “‘The  derivation  of  the  name  of 
the  elephant  has  taxed  the  ingeniousness  of 
many  able  writers,  but  there  can  be  no 
doubt  in  the  mind  of  any  one  who  has  seen 
that  noble  creature,  as  I have,  in  its  native 
woods,  careering  nimbly  from  branch  to 
branch  of  the  largest  trees  in  search  of  the 
butterflies,  which  form  its  sole  food,  that 
the  name  elephant  is  but  a corruption  of 
elegant,  the  movements  of  the  animal  being 
as  singularly  graceful  as  its  shape  is  in  ac- 
cordance with  all  accepted  ideas  of  sym- 
metry.’ Sir,  this  is  mighty  fine,  but  your 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  117 

style  lacks  animation.  A writer  on  ‘Ani- 
mated Nature  ’ should  be  himself  both  ani- 
mated and  natural,  as  one  who  translates 
Buff  on  should  himself  be  a buffoon.” 

In  this  strain  of  nonsense  Garrick  went 
on  for  the  next  ten  minutes,  leading-  up  to  a 
simulated  dispute  between  Goldsmith  and 
his  amanuensis  as  to  whether  a dog-  lived  on 
land  or  water.  The  dispute  waxed  warmer 
and  warmer,  until  at  last  blows  were  ex- 
changed and  the  amanuensis  kicked  Gold- 
smith through  the  door  and  down  the  stairs. 
The  bumping  of  the  imaginary  man  from 
step  to  step  was  heard  in  the  drawing-room, 
and  then  the  amanuensis  entered,  smiling 
and  rubbing  his  hands  as  he  remarked  — 

“ The  impertinent  fellow ! To  presume 
to  dictate  to  his  amanuensis ! Lord ! what ’s 
the  world  coming  to  when  a common  lit- 
erary man  presumes  to  dictate  to  his  aman- 
uensis?” 

Such  buffoonery  was  what  Garrick  loved. 
At  Dr.  Burney’s  new  house,  around  the 
corner  in  St.  Martin’s  street,  he  used  to 
keep  the  household  in  roars  of  laughter  — 
as  one  delightful  member  of  the  household 
has  recorded  — over  his  burlesque  auctions 
of  books,  and  his  imitations  of  Dr.  Johnson. 

“And  all  this,”  said  Goldsmith,  “came 
put  of  the  paltry  story  which  I told  him  of 


118  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

how  I hired  an  amanuensis,  but  found  my- 
self dumb  the  moment  he  sat  down  to 
work,  so  that,  after  making*  a number  of 
excuses  which  I knew  he  saw  throug*h,  I 
found  it  to  my  advantag*e  to  g*ive  the  man  a 
guinea  and  send  him  away.” 


CHAPTER  XL 


Goldsmith  was  delighted  to  find  that  the 
Jessamy  Bride  seemed  free  from  care.  He 
had  gone  to  Reynolds’  in  fear  and  trembling 
lest  he  should  hear  that  she  was  unable  to 
join  the  party;  but  now  he  found  her  in  as 
merry  a mood  as  he  had  ever  known  her  to 
be  in.  He  was  seated  by  her  side  at  din- 
ner, and  he  was  glad  to  find  that  there  was 
upon  her  no  trace  of  the  mysterious  mood 
that  had  spoiled  his  pleasure  at  the  Pan- 
theon. 

She  had,  of  course,  heard  of  the  troubles 
at  the  playhouse,  and  she  told  him  that 
nothing  would  induce  her  ever  to  speak  to 
Colman,  though  she  said  that  she  and  Lit- 
tle Comedy,  when  they  had  first  heard  of 
the  intention  of  the  manager  to  withdraw 
the  piece,  had  resolved  to  go  together  to 
the  theatre  and  demand  its  immediate  pro- 
duction on  the  finest  scale  possible. 

“ There ’s  still  great  need  for  some  one 
who  will  be  able  to  influence  Colman  in  that 
respect,”  said  Goldsmith.  “Only  to-day, 
when  I ventured  to  talk  of  a fresh  scene 

119 


120  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

being*  painted,  he  told  me  that  it  was  not 
his  intention  to  proceed  to  such  expense 
for  a piece  that  would  not  be  played  for 
long*er  than  a small  portion  of  one  evening*.” 

“The  monster!”  cried  the  g*irl.  I 
should  like  to  talk  to  him  as  I feel  about 
this.  What,  is  he  mad  enough  to  expect 
that  playgoers  will  tolerate  his  wretched 
old  scenery  in  a new  comedy  ? Oh,  clearly 
he  needs  some  one  to  be  near  him  who  will 
speak  plainly  to  him  and  tell  him  how  con- 
temptible he  is.  Your  friend  Dr.  Johnson 
should  go  to  him.  The  occasion  is  one  that 
demands  the  powers  of  a man  who  has  a 
whole  dictionary  at  his  back  — yes,  Dr. 
Johnson  should  go  to  him  and  threaten  that 
if  he  does  not  behave  handsomely  he  will, 
in  his  next  edition  of  the  Dictionary,  define 
a scoundrel  as  a playhouse  manager  who 
keeps  an  author  in  suspense  for  months, 
and  then  produces  his  comedy  so  ungener- 
ously as  to  make  its  failure  a certainty. 
But,  no,  your  play  will  be  the  greater  suc- 
cess on  account  of  its  having  to  overcome 
all  the  obstacles  which  Mr.  Colman  has 
placed  in  its  way.” 

“I  know,  dear  child,  that  if  it  depended 
on  your  good  will  it  would  be  the  greatest 
success  of  the  century,”  said  he. 

“And  so  it  will  be  — oh,  it  must  be! 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  121 

Little  Comedy  and  I will  — oh,  we  shall  in- 
sist on  the  playgoers  liking  it!  We  will  sit 
in  front  of  a box  and  lead  all  the  applause, 
and  we  will,  besides,  keep  stern  eyes  fixed 
upon  any  one  who  may  have  the  bad  taste  to 
decline  to  follow  us.” 

“You  are  kindness  itself,  my  dear;  and 
meanwhile,  if  you  would  come  to  the  re- 
maining rehearsals,  and  spend  all  your 
spare  time  thinking  out  a suitable  name  for 
the  play  you  would  be  conferring  an  addi- 
tional favour  upon  an  ill-treated  author.” 

“I  will  do  both,  and  it  will  be  strange  if 
I do  not  succeed  in  at  least  one  of  the  two 
enterprises  — the  first  being  the  changing 
of  the  mistakes  of  a manager  into  the  suc- 
cess of  a night,  and  the  second  the  changing 
of  the  ‘Mistakes  of  a Night’  into  the  suc- 
cess of  a manager  — ay,  and  of  an  author 
as  well.” 

“ Admirably  spoke ! ” cried  the  author. 
“ I have  a mind  to  let  the  name  ‘ The  Mis- 
takes of  a Night  ’ stand,  you  have  made 
such  a pretty  play  upon  it.” 

“ No,  no;  that  is  not  the  kind  of  play  to 
fill  the  theatre,”  said  she.  “Oh,  do  not  be 
afraid;  it  will  be  very  strange  if  between  us 
we  cannot  hit  upon  a title  that  will  deserve, 
if  not  a coronet,  at  least  a wreath  of  laurel.” 
Sir  Joshua,  who  was  sitting  at  the  head 


122  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

of  the  table,  not  far  away,  had  put  up  his 
ear-trumpet  between  the  courses,  and 
caught  a word  or  two  of  the  girl’s  sentence. 

“ I presume  that  you  are  still  discussing 
the  great  title  question,”  said  he.  “You 
need  riot  do  so.  Have  I not  given  you  my 
assurance  that  ‘ The  Belle’s  Stratagem  ’ is 
the  best  name  that  the  play  could  receive?” 

“Nay,  that  title  Dr.  Goldsmith  holds  to 
be  one  of  the  ‘mistakes  of  a Knight! ’ ” said 
Mr.  Bunbury  in  a low  tone.  He  delighted 
in  a pun,  but  did  not  like  too  many  people 
to  hear  him  make  one. 

“ ‘ The  Belle’s  Stratagem  ’ I hold  to  be  a 
good  enough  title  until  we  get  a better,” 
said  Goldsmith.  “I  have  confidence  in  the 
ingenuity  of  Miss  Horneck  to  discover  the 
better  one.” 

“Nay,  I protest  if  you  do  not  take  my 
title  I shall  go  to  the  playhouse  and  damn 
the  play,”  said  Reynolds.  “ I have  given  it 
its  proper  name,  and  if  it  appears  in  public 
under  any  other  it  will  have  earned  the 
reprobation  of  all  honest  folk  who  detest  an 

“Then  that  name  shall  stand,”  said 
Goldsmith.  “I  give  you  my  word.  Sir 
Joshua,  I would  rather  see  my  play  succeed 
under  your  title  than  have  it  damned  under 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  123 

a title  given  to  it  by  the  next  best  man  to 
you  in  England.” 

“That  is  very  well  said,  indeed,”  re- 
marked Sir  Joshua.  “ It  gives  evidence  of  a 
certain  generosity  of  feeling  on  your  part 
which  all  should  respect.” 

Miss  Kauffman,  who  sat  at  Sir  Joshua’s 
right,  smiled  a trifle  vaguely,  for  she  had 
not  quite  understood  the  drift  of  Gold- 
smith’s phrase,  but  from  the  other  end  of 
the  table  there  came  quite  an  outburst  of 
laughter.  Garrick  sat  there  with  Mrs. 
Bunbury  and  Baretti,  to  whom  he  was  tell- 
ing an  imaginary  story  of  Quid  Grouse  in 
the  gun-room. 

Dr.  Burney,  who  sat  at  the  other  side  of 
the  table,  had  ventured  to  question  the  like- 
lihood of  an  audience’s  apprehending  the 
humour  of  the  story  at  which  Diggory  had 
only  hinted.  He  wondered  if  the  story 
should  not  be  told  for  the  benefit  of  the 
playgoers. 

A gentleman  whom  Bunbury  had  brought 
to  dinner  — his  name  was  Colonel  Gwyn, 
and  it  was  known  that  he  was  a great  ad- 
mirer of  Mary  Horneck  — took  up  the 
question  quite  seriously. 

“For  my  part,”  he  said,  “I  admit  frankly 
that  I have  never  heard  the  story  of  Grouse 
in  the  gun-room.” 


124  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“Is  it  possible,  sir?”  cried  Garrick. 
“What,  you  mean  to  say  that  you  are  not 
familiar  with  the  reply  of  Quid  Grouse  to 
the  young-  woman  who  asked  him  how  he 
found  his  way  into  the  gun-room  when  the 
door  was  locked — that  about  every  gun 
having  a lock,  and  so  forth  ? ” 

“ No,  sir,”  cried  Colonel  Gwyn.  “ I had 
no  idea  that  the  story  was  a familiar  one.  It 
seems  interesting,  too.” 

“Oh,  ’t  is  amazingly  interesting,”  said 
Garrick.  “But  you  are  an  army  man. 
Colonel  Gwyn ; you  have  heard  it  fre- 
quently told  over  the  mess-table.” 

“I  protest,  sir,”  said  Colonel  Gwyn,  “I 
know  so  little  about  it  that  I fancied  Ould 
Grouse  was  the  name  of  a dog  — I have  my- 
self known  of  sporting  dogs  called  Grouse.” 
“Oh,  Colonel,  you  surprise  me,”  cried 
Garrick.  “Ould  Grouse  a dog!  Pray  do 
not  hint  so  much  to  Dr.  Goldsmith.  He 
is  a very  sensitive  man,  and  would  feel 
greatly  hurt  by  such  a suggestion.  I be- 
lieve that  Dr.  Goldsmith  was  an  intimate 
friend  of  Ould  Grouse  and  felt  his  death 
severely.” 

“Then  he  is  dead?”  said  Gwyn.  “That, 
sir,  gives  a melancholy  interest  to  the  nar- 
rative.” 

“A  particularly  pathetic  interest,  sir,” 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  125 

said  Garrick,  shaking*  his  head.  “I  was 
not  among-  his  intimates, ^Colonel  Gwyn,  but 
when  I reflect  that  that  dear  simple-minded 
old  soul  is  gone  from  us  — that  the  gun- 
room door  is  now  open,  but  that  within 
there  is  silence  — no  sound  of  the  dear  old 
feet  that  were  wont  to  patter  and  potter  — 
you  will  pardon  my  emotion,  madam  ” — 
He  turned  with  streaming  eyes  to  Miss 
Reynolds,  who  forthwith  became  sympa- 
thetically affected,  her  voice  breaking  as 
she  endeavoured  to  assure  Garrick  that  his 
emotion,  so  far  from  requiring  an  apology, 
did  him  honour.  Bunbury,  who  was  ready 
to  roar,-  could  not  do  so  now  without  seem- 
ing to  laugh  at  the  feeling  of  his  hostess, 
and  his  wife  had  too  high  an  appreciation  of 
comedy  not  to  be  able  to  keep  her  face  per- 
fectly grave,  while  a sob  or  two  that  he 
seemed  quite  unable  to  suppress  came 
from  the  napkin  which  Garrick  held  up  to 
his  face.  Baretti  said  something  in  Italian 
to  Dr.  Burney  across  the  table,  about  the 
melancholy  nature  of  the  party,  and  then 
Garrick  dropped  his  napkin,  saying  — 

“ ’T  is  selfish  to  repine,  and  he  himself — 
dear  old  soul ! — would  be  the  last  to  coun- 
tenance a show  of  melancholy ; for,  as  his 
remarks  in  the  gun-room  testify.  Colonel 
Gwyn,  he  had  a fine  sense  of  humour.  I 


126  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

fancy  I see  him,  the  broad  smile  lighting  up 
his  homely  features,  as  he  delivered  that 
sly  thrust  at  his  questioner,  for  it  is  per- 
fectly well  known.  Colonel,  that  so  far  as 
poaching  was  concerned  the  other -man  had 
no  particular  character  in  the  neighbour- 
hood.” 

“ Oh,  Grouse  was  a poacher,  then,”  said 
the  Colonel. 

“Well,  if  the  truth  must  be  told — but 
no,  the  man  is  dead  and  gone  now,”  cried 
Garrick,  “and  it  is  more  generous  only  to 
remember,  as  we  all  do,  the  nimbleness 
of  his  wit — the  genial  mirth  which  ran 
through  the  gun-room  after  that  famous 
sally  of  his.  It  seems  that  honest  homely 
fun  is  dying  out  in  England ; the  country 
stands  in  need  of  an  Ould  Grouse  or  two 
just  now,  and  let  us  hope  that  when  the 
story  of  that  quiet,  yet  thoroughly  jovial,  re- 
mark of  his  in  the  gun-room  comes  to  be 
told  in  the  comedy,  there  will  be  a revival 
of  the  good  old  days  when  men  were  not 
afraid  to  joke,  sir,  and ” 

“But  so  far  as  I can  gather  from  what 
Mrs.  Bunbury,  who  heard  the  comedy  read, 
has  told  me,  the  story  of  Ould  Grouse  in  the 
gun-room  is  never  actually  narrated,  but 
only  hinted  at,”  said  Gwyn. 

“That  makes  little  matter,  sir,”  said 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  127 

Garrick.  “The  untold  story  of  Quid  Grouse 
in  the  g*un-room  will  be  more  heartily 
laughed  at  during  the  next  year  or  two 
than  the  best  story  of  which  every  detail  is 
given.” 

“At  any  rate,  Colonel  Gwyn,”  said  Mrs. 
Bunbury,  “after  the  pains  which  Mr.  Gar- 
rick has  taken  to  acquaint  you  with  the 
amplest  particulars  of  the  story  you  cannot 
in  future  profess  to  be  unacquainted  with  it.” 
Colonel  Gwyn  looked  puzzled. 

“I  protest,  madam,”  said  he,  “that  up 
to  the  present  — ah!  I fear  that  the  very 
familiarity  of  Mr.  Garrick  with  the  story 
has  caused  him  to  be  led  to  take  too  much 
for  granted.  I do  not  question  the  humour, 
mind  you  — I fancy  that  I am  as  quick  as 

most  men  to  see  a joke,  but ” 

This  was  too  much  for  Bunbury  and 
Burney.  They  both  roared  with  laughter, 
which  increased  in  volume  as  the  puzzled 
look  upon  Colonel  Gwyn’s  face  w^as  taken  up 
by  Garrick,  as  he  glanced  first  at  Burney 
and  then  at  Little  Comedy’s  husband.  Poor 
Miss  Reynolds,  who  could  never  quite  make 
out  what  was  going  on  around  her  in  that 
strange  household  where  she  had  been 
thrown  by  an  ironical  fate,  looked  gravely 
at  the  ultra-grave  Garrick,  and  then  smiled 
artificially  at  Dr.  Burney  with  a view  of 


128  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

assuring*  him  that  she  understood  perfectly 
how  he  came  to  be  merry, 

“Colonel  Gwyn,”  said  Garrick,  “these 
gentlemen  seem  to  have  their  own  reasons 
for  merriment,  but  I think  you  and  I can 
better  discriminate  when  to  laugh  and  when 
to  refrain  from  laughter.  And  yet  — ah,  I 
perceive  they  are  recalling  the  story  of 
Quid  Grouse  in  the  gun-room,  and  that, 
sure  enough,  would  convulse  an  Egyptian 
mummy  or  a statue  of  Nestor;  and  the 
funny  part  of  the  business  is  yet  to  come, 
for  up  to  the  present  I don’t  believe  that  I 
told  you  that  the  man  had  actually  been 
married  for  some  years.” 

He  laughed  so  heartily  that  Colonel 
Gwyn  could  not  refrain  from  joining  in, 
though  his  laughter  was  a good  deal  less 
hearty  than  that  of  any  of  the  others  who 
had  enjoyed  Garrick’s  whimsical  fun. 

When  the  men  were  left  alone  at  the 
table,  there  was  some  little  embarrassment 
owing  to  the  deficiency  of  glass,  for  Sir 
Joshua,  who  was  hospitable  to  a fault,  keep- 
ing an  open  house  and  dining  his  friends 
every  evening,  could  never  be  persuaded 
to  replace  the  glass  which  chanced  to  be 
broken.  Garrick  made  an  excuse  of  the 
shortness  of  port-glasses  at  his  end  of  the 
table  to  move  up  beside  Goldsmith,  whom 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  129 

he  cheered  by  telling*  him  that  he  had  al- 
ready given  a lesson  to  Woodward  regard- 
ing the  speaking  of  the  prologue  which  he, 
Garrick,  had  written  for  the  comedy.  He 
said  he  believed  Woodward  would  repeat 
the  lines  very  effectively.  When  Gold- 
smith mentioned  that  Colman  declined  to 
have  a single  scene  painted  for  the  produc- 
tion, both  Sir  Joshua  and  Garrick  were  in- 
dignant. 

“You  would  have  done  well  to  leave  the 
piece  in  my  hands,  Noll,”  said  the  latter, 
alluding  to  the  circumstance  of  Goldsmith’s 
having  sent  the  play  to  him  on  Colman’s 
first  refusal  to  produce  it. 

“Ah,  Davy,  my  friend,”  Goldsmith  re- 
plied, “I  feel  more  at  my  ease  in  reflecting 
that  in  another  week  I shall  know  the  worst 
— or  the  best.  If  the  play  had  remained 
with  you  I should  feel  like  a condemned 
criminal  for  the  next  year  or  two.” 

In  the  drawing  room  that  evening  Gar- 
rick and  Goldsmith  got  up  the  entertain- 
ment, which  was  possibly  the  most  divert- 
ing one  ever  seen  in  a room. 

Goldsmith  sat  on  Garrick’s  knees  with  a 
table-cloth  drawn  over  his  head  and  body, 
leaving  his  arms  only  exposed.  Garrick 
then  began  reciting  long  sentimental  solilo- 
quies from  certain  plays,  which  Goldsmith 


130  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

was  supposed  to  illustrate  by  his  gestures. 
The  form  of  the  entertainment  has  sur- 
vived, and  sometimes  by  chance  it  becomes 
humourous.  But  with  Garrick  repeating  the 
lines  and  thrilling  his  audience  by  his  mar- 
vellous change  of  expression  as  no  audience 
has  since  been  thrilled,  and  with  Goldsmith 
burlesquing  with  inappropriately  extrava- 
gant and  wholly  amusing  gestures  the  pas- 
sionate deliverances,  it  can  easily  be  be- 
lieved that  Sir  Joshua’s  guests  were  con- 
vulsed. 

After  some  time  of  this  division  of 
labour,  the  position  of  the  two  playmates 
was  reversed.  It  was  Garrick  who  sat  on 
Goldsmith’s  knees  and  did  the  gesticulat- 
ing, while  the  poet  attempted  to  deliver  his 
lines  after  the  manner  of  the  player.  The 
effect  was  even  more  ludicrous  than  that  of 
the  previous  combination ; and  then,  in  the 
middle  of  an  affecting  passage  from  Addi- 
son’s “Cato,”  Goldsmith  began  to  sing  the 
song  which  he  had  been  compelled  to  omit 
from  the  part  of  Miss  Hardcastle,  owing  to 
Mrs.  Bulkley’s  not  being  a singer.  Of 
course  Garrick’s  gestures  during  the 
delivery  of  the  song  were  marvellously 
ingenious,  and  an  additional  element  of 
attraction  was  introduced  by  Dr.  Burney, 
who  hastily  seated  himself  at  the  piano- 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  131 

forte  and  interwove  a medley  accompani- 
ment, introducing-  all  the  airs  then  popular, 
but  without  prejudice  to  the  harmonies  of 
the  accompaniment. 

Reynolds  stood  by  the  side  of  his  friend. 
Miss  Kauffman,  and  when  this  marvellous 
fooling-  had  come  to  an  end,  except  for  the 
extra  diversion  caused  by  Garrick’s  declin- 
ing to  leave  Goldsmith’s  knees — he  begged 
the  lady  to  favour  the  company  with  an 
Italian  song  which  she  was  accustomed  to 
sing  to  the  accompaniment  of  a guitar.  But 
Miss  Angelica  shook  her  head. 

“Pray  add  your  entreaties  to  mine, 
Miss  Horneck,”  said  Sir  Joshua  to  the 
Jessamy  Bride.  “Entreat  our  Angel  of 
Art  to  give  us  the  pleasure  of  hearing  her 
sing.” 

Miss  Horneck  rose,  and  made  an  elabor- 
ate curtsey  before  the  smiling  Angelica. 

“ Oh,  Madame  Angel,  live  forever  !”  she 
cried.  “ Will  your  Majesty  condescend 
to  let  us  hear  your  angelic  voice?  You 
have  already  deigned  to  captivate  our  souls 
by  the  exercise  of  one  art ; will  you  now 
stoop  to  conquer  our  savage  hearts  by  the 
exercise  of  another?  ” 

A sudden  cry  startled  the  company,  and 
at  the  same  instant  Garrick  was  thrown  on 


132  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

his  hands  and  knees  on  the  floor  by  the  act 
of  Goldsmith’s  spring-ing-  to  his  feet. 

“ By  the  Lord,  I ’ve  g*ot  it ! ” shouted 
Goldsmith.  “ The  Jessamy  Bride  has  given 
it  to  me,  as  I knew  she  would  — the  title  of 
my  comedy  — she  has  just  said  it:  ‘She 

Stoops  to  Conquer.’  ” 


CHAPTER  XII. 


As  a matter  of  course,  Colman  objected 
to  the  new  title  when  Goldsmith  communi- 
cated it  to  him  the  next  day  ; but  the  latter 
was  firm  on  this  particular  point.  He  had 
g-iven  the  play  its  name,  he  said,  and  he 
would  not  alter  it  now  on  any  consideration. 

Colman  once  ag*ain  shrug*g*ed  his 
shoulders.  The  production  of  the  play 
g-ave  him  so  much  practice  at  shrug-ging*. 
Goldsmith  expressed  his  regret  at  not  be- 
ing able  to  introduce  the  part  of  a French- 
man, which  he  said  he  believed  the  man- 
ager would  play  to  perfection. 

But  when  Johnson,  who  attended  the  re- 
hearsal with  Miss  Reynolds,  the  whole 
Horneck  family,  Cradock  and  Murphy,  as- 
serted, as  he  did  with  his  customary  em- 
phasis, that  no  better  title  than  “She  Stoops 
to  Conquer”  could  be  found  for  the  comedy, 
Colman  made  no  further  objections,  and  the 
rehearsal  was  proceeded  with. 

“Nay,  sir,”  cried  Johnson,  when  Gold- 
smith was  leaving  his  party  in  a box  in  order 
to  go  upon  the  stage,  “Nay,  sir,  you  shall 

133 


134  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

not  desert  us.  You  must  stay  by  us  to  let 
us  know  when  the  jests  are  spoken,  so  that 
we  may  be  fully  qualified  to  laugh  at  the 
right  moments  when  the  theatre  is  filled. 
Why,  Goldy,  you  would  not  leave  us  to  our 
own  resources?  ” 

“I  will  be  the  Lieutenant  Cook  of  the 
comedy.  Dr.  Johnson,”  said  Miss  Horneck 
— Lieutenant  Cook  and  his  discoveries  con- 
stituted the  chief  topics  of  the  hour.  “I 
believe  that  I know  so  much  of  the  dialogue 
as  will  enable  me  to  pilot  you,  not  merely  to 
the  Otaheite  of  a jest,  but  to  a whole  archi- 
pelago of  wit.” 

“Otaheite  is  a name  of  good  omen,” 
said  Cradock.  “ It  is  suggestive  of  palms, 
and  ^falmam  qui  meruit  ferat.'’  ” 

“Sir,”  said  Johnson,”  “you  should  know 
better  than  to  quote  Latin  in  the  presence 
of  ladies.  Though  your  remark  is  not  quite 
so  bad  as  I expected  it  would  be,  yet  let  me 
tell  you,  sir,  that  unless  the  wit  in  the  com- 
edy is  a good  deal  livelier  than  yours,  it  will 
have  a poor  chance  with  the  playgoers.” 

“ Oh,  sir.  Dr.  Goldsmith’s  wit  is  greatly 
superior  to  mine,  ’ ’ laughed  Cradock.  “Other- 
wise it  would  be  my  comedy  that  would  be 
in  rehearsal,  and  Dr.  Goldsmith  would  be 
merely  on  a level  with  us  who  constitute 
his  critics.” 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  135 

Goldsmith  had  gone  on  the  stage  and  the 
rehearsal  had  begun,  so  that  Johnson  was 
enabled,  by  pretending  to  give  all  his  atten- 
tion to  the  opening  dialogue,  to  hide  b^slack 
of  an  effective  reply  to  Cradock  for  iis  in- 
solence in  suggesting  that  they  were  both 
on  the  same  level  as  critics. 

Before  Shuter,  as  Old  Hardcastle,  had 
more  than  begun  to  drill  his  servants,  the 
mighty  laughter  of  Dr.  Johnson  was  shak- 
ing the  box.  Every  outburst  was  like  (he 
exploding  of  a bomb,  or,  as  Cradock  pul  it, 
the  broadside  coming  from  the  carronade 
of  a three-decker.  He  had  laughed  and 
applauded  during  the  scene  at  the  Three 
Pigeons  — especially  the  satirical  sallies 
directed  against  the  sentimentalists  — but 
it  was  the  drilling  of  the  servants  that  ex- 
cited him  most,  and  he  inquired  of  Miss 
Horneck  — 

‘‘  Pray  what  is  the  story  of  Ould  Grouse 
in  the  gun-room,  my  dear?  ” 

When  the  members  of  the  company 
learned  that  it  was  the  great  Dr.  Samuel 
Johnson  who  was  roaring  with  laughter  in 
the  box,  they  were  as  much  amazed  as  they 
were  encouraged.  Colman,  who  had  come 
upon  the  stage  out  of  compliment  to  John- 
son, feeling  that  his  position  as  an  authority 
regarding  the  elements  of  diversion  in  a 


136  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

play  was  being*  undermined  in  the  estima- 
tion of  his  company,  remarked  — 

“Your  friend  Dr.  Johnson  will  be  a 
friend  indeed  if  he  comes  in  as  generous  a 
mood  to  the  first  representation.  I only 
hope  that  the  playgoers  will  not  resent  his 
attempt  to  instruct  them  on  the  subject  of 
your  wit.” 

“ I don’t  think  that  there  is  any  one  alive 
who  will  venture  to  resent  the  instruction 
of  Dr.  Johnson,”  said  Goldsmith  quietly. 

The  result  of  this  rehearsal  and  of  the 
three  rehearsals  that  followed  it  during  the 
week,  was  more  than  encouraging  to  the 
actors,  and  it  became  understood  that  Wood- 
ward and  Gentleman  Smith  were  ready  to 
admit  their  regret  at  having  relinquished 
the  parts  for  which  they  had  been  originally 
cast.  The  former  had  asked  to  be  per- 
mitted to  speak  the  prologue,  which  Garrick 
had  written,  and,  upon  which,  as  he  had  told 
Goldsmith,  he  had  already  given  a hint  or 
two  to  Woodward. 

The  difficulty  of  the  epilogue,  however, 
still  remained.  The  one  which  Murphy  had 
written  for  Mrs.  Bulkley  was  objected  to 
by  Miss  Catley,  who  threatened  to  leave  the 
company  if  Mrs.  Bulkley,  who  had  been 
merely  thrust  forward  to  take  Mrs.  Abing- 
ton’s  place,  were  entrusted  with  the  epi- 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  137 

log-ue ; and,  when  Cradock  wrote  another 
for  Miss  Catley,  Mrs.  Bulkley  declared  that 
if  Miss  Catley  were  allowed  the  distinction 
which  she  herself  had  a rig-ht  to  claim,  she 
would  leave  the  theatre.  Goldsmith’s  ing*e- 
nuity  sug-g-ested  the  writing*  of  an  epilogue 
in  which  both  the  ladies  were  presented  in 
their  true  characters  as  quarreling  on  the 
subject;  but  Colman  placed  his  veto  upon 
this  idea  and  also  upon  another  simple  epi- 
logue which  the  author  had  written.  Only 
on  the  day  preceding  the  first  performance 
did  Goldsmith  produce  the  epilogue  which 
was  eventually  spoken  by  Mrs.  Bulkley. 

“ It  seems  to  me  to  be  a pity  to  waste  so 
much  time  discussing  an  epilogue  which 
will  never  be  spoke,”  sneered  Colman  when 
the  last  difidculties  had  been  smoothed  over. 

Goldsmith  walked  away  without  another 
word,  and  joined  his  party,  consisting  of 
Johnson,  Reynolds,  Miss  Reynolds,  the 
Bunburys  and  Mary  Horneck.  Now  that 
he  had  done  all  his  work  connected  with  the 
production  of  the  play  — when  he  had  not 
allowed  himself  to  be  overcome  by  the  nig- 
gardly behaviour  of  the  manager  in  declin- 
ing to  spend  a single  penny  either  upon  the 
dresses  or  the  scenery,  that  parting  sneer 
of  Colman’s  almost  caused  him  to  break 
down. 


138  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

Mary  Horneck  perceived  this,  and  has- 
tened to  say  something  kind  to  him.  She 
knew  so  well  what  would  be  truly  encour- 
aging to  him  that  she  did  not  hesitate  for  a 
moment. 

“ I am  glad  I am  not  going  to  the  theatre 
to-night,”  she  said;  “my  dress  would  be 
ruined.” 

He  tried  to  smile  as  he  asked  her  for  an 
explanation. 

“Why,  surely  you  heard  the  way  the 
cleaners  were  laughing  at  the  humour  of 
the  play,”  she  cried.  “Oh,  yes,  all  the 
cleaners  dropped  their  dusters,  and  stood 
around  the  boxes  in  fits  of  laughter.  I 
overheard  one  of  the  candle-snuffers  say 
that  no  play  he  had  seen  rehearsed  for 
years  contained  such  wit  as  yours.  I also 
overheard  another  man  cursing  Mr.  Col- 
man  for  a curmudgeon.” 

“You  did  ? Thank  God  for  that;  ’t  is  a 
great  responsibility  off  my  mind,”  said 
Goldsmith.  “ Oh,  my  dear  Jessamy  Bride, 
I know  how  kind  you  are,  and  I only  hope 
that  your  god-child  will  turn  out  a credit 
to  me.” 

“It  is  not  merely  your  credit  that  is  in- 
volved in  the  success  of  this  play,  sir,” 
said  Johnson.  “The  credit  of  your  friends. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  139 

who  insisted  on  Colman’s  taking*  the  play, 
is  also  at  stake.” 

“And  above  all,”  said  Reynolds  pleas- 
antly, “ the  play  must  be  a success  in  order 
to  put  Colman  in  the  wrong*.” 

“ That  is  the  best  reason  that  could  be 
advanced  why  its  success  is  important  to 
us  all,”  said  Mary.  “It  would  never  do 
for  Colman  to  be  in  the  right.  Oh,  we  need 
live  in  no  trepidation;  all  our  credits  will  be 
saved  by  Monday  night.” 

“I  wonder  if  any  unworthy  man  ever 
had  so  many  worthy  friends,”  said  Gold- 
smith. “I  am  overcome  by  their  kind- 
ness, and  overwhelmed  with  a sense  of  my 
own  unworthiness.” 

“You  will  have  another  thousand  friends 
by  Monday  night,  sir,”  cried  Johnson. 
“Your  true  friend,  sir,  is  the  friend  who 
pa}^s  for  his  seat  to  hear  your  play.” 

“I  always  held  that  the  best  definition 
of  a true  friend  is  the  man  who,  when  you 
are  in  the  hands  of  bailiffs,  comes  to  see 
you,  but  takes  care  to  send  a guinea  in  ad- 
vance,” said  Goldsmith,  and  every  one  pres- 
ent knew  that  he  alluded  to  the  occasion 
upon  which  he  had  been  befriended  by 
Johnson  on  the  day  that  “ The  Vicar  of 
Wakefield  ” was  sold. 

“And  now,”  said  Reynolds,  “I  have  to 


140  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

prove  how  certain  we  are  of  the  future  of 
your  piece  by  asking*  you  to  join  us  at  din- 
ner on  Monday  previous  to  the  perform- 
ance.” 

“ Commonplace  people  would  invite  you 
to  supper,  sir,  to  celebrate  the  success  of 
the  play,”  said  Johnson.  “ To  proffer  such 
an  invitation  would  be  to  admit  that  we 
were  only  convinced  of  your  worth  after 
the  public  had  attested  to  it  in  the  most 
practical  way.  But  we.  Dr.  Goldsmith,  who 
know  your  worth,  and  have  known  it  all 
these  years,  wish  to  show  that  our  esteem 
remains  independent  of  the  verdict  of  the 
public.  On  Monday  night,  sir,  you  will  find 
a thousand  people  who  will  esteem  it  an 
honour  to  have  you  to  sup  with  them;  but 
on  Monday  afternoon  you  will  dine  with  us.” 

“You  not  only  mean  better  than  any 
other  man,  sir,  you  express  what  you  mean 
better,”  said  Goldsmith.  “A  compliment 
is  doubly  a compliment  coming  from  Dr. 
Johnson.” 

He  was  quite  overcome,  and,  observing 
this,  Reynolds  and  Mary  Horneck  walked 
away  together,  leaving  him  to  compose  him- 
self under  the  shelter  of  a somewhat  pro- 
tracted analysis  by  Dr.  Johnson  of  the 
character  of  Young  Marlow.  In  the  course 
of  a quarter  of  an  hour  Goldsmith  had  sufid- 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  141 

ciently  recovered  to  be  able  to  perceive  for 
the  first  time  how  remarkable  a character 
he  had  created. 

On  Monday  George  Steevens  called  for 
Goldsmith  to  accompany  him  to  the  St. 
James’s  coffee-house,  where  the  dinner  was 
to  take  place.  He  found  the  author  giving 
the  finishing  touches  to  his  toilet,  his  coat 
being  a sMmon-pink  in  tint,  and  his  waist- 
coat a pale  yellow,  embroidered  with  silver. 
Filby’s  bills  (unpaid,  alas!)  prevent  one 
from  making  any  mistake  on  this  point. 

“Heavens!”  cried  the  visitor.  “Have 
you  forgot  that  you  cannot  wear  colours?  ” 

“Why  not?”  asked  Goldsmith.  “Be- 
cause Woodward  is  to  appear  in  mourning 
to  speak  the  prologue,  is  that  any  reason 
why  the  author  of  the  comedy  should  also 
be  in  black?” 

“ Nay,”  said  Steevens,  “that  is  not  the 
reason.  How  is  it  possible  that  you  forget 
the  Court  is  in  mourning  for  the  King  of 
Sardinia?  That  coat  of  yours  is  a splendid 
one,  I allow,  but  if  you  were  to  appear  in  it 
in  front  of  your  box  a very  bad  impression 
would  be  produced.  I suppose  you  hope 
that  the  King  will  command  a perform- 
ance.” 

Goldsmith’s  face  fell.  He  looked  at  the 
reflection  of  the  gorgeous  garments  in  a 


142  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

mirror  and  sighed.  He  had  a great  weak- 
ness for  colour  in  dress.  At  last  he  took 
off  the  coat  and  gave  another  fond  look  at  it 
before  throwing  it  over  the  back  of  a chair. 

“It  was  an  inspiration  on  your  part  to 
come  for  me,  my  dear  friend, ’ ’ said  he.  “I 
would  not  for  a good  deal  have  made  such  a 
mistake.” 

He  reappeared  in  a few  moments  in  a 
suit  of  sober  grey,  and  drove  with  his  friend 
to  the  coffee-house,  where  the  party,  con- 
sisting of  Johnson,  Reynolds,  Edmund  and 
Richard  Burke,  and  Caleb  Whitefoord,  had 
already  assembled. 

It  soon  became  plain  that  Goldsmith 
was  extremely  nervous.  He  shook  hands 
twice  with  Richard  Burke  and  asked  him  if 
he  had  heard  that  the  King  of  Sardinia  was 
dead,  adding  that  it  was  a constant  matter 
for  regret  with  him  that  he  had  not  visited 
Sardinia  when  on  his  travels.  He  ex- 
pressed a hope  that  the  death  of  the  King 
of  Sardinia  would  not  have  so  depressing 
an  effect  upon  playgoers  generally  as  to 
prejudice  their  enjoyment  of  his  comedy. 

Edmund  Burke,  understanding  his 
mood,  assured  him  gravely  that  he  did  not 
think  one  should  be  apprehensive  on  this 
score,  adding  that  it  would  be  quite  possi- 
ble to  overestimate  the  poignancy  of  the 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  143 

grief  which  the  frequenters  of  the  pit  were 
likely  to  feel  at  so  melancholy  but,  after  all, 
so  inevitable  an  occurrence  as  the  decease 
of  a potentate  whose  name  they  had  prob- 
ably never  heard. 

Goldsmith  shook  his  head  doubtfully, 
and  said  he  would  try  and  hope  for  the 
best,  but  still  . . . 

Then  he  hastened  to  Steevens,  who  was 
laughing  heartily  at  a pun  of  Whitefoord’s, 
and  said  he  was  certain  that  neither  of 
them  could  have  heard  that  the  King  of 
Sardinia  was  dead,  or  they  would  moderate 
their  merriment. 

The  dinner  was  a ^dismal  failure,  so  far 
as  the  guest  of  the  party  was  concerned. 
He  was  unable  to  swallow  a morsel,  so 
parched  had  his  throat  become  through 
sheer  nervousness,  and  he  could  not  be  in- 
duced to  partake  of  more  than  a single 
glass  of  wine.  He  was  evermore  glancing 
at  the  clock  and  expressing  a hope  that  the 
dinner  would  be  over  in  good  time  to  allow 
of  their  driving  comfortably  to  the  theatre. 

Dr.  Johnson  was  at  first  greatly  con- 
cerned on  learning  from  Reynolds  that 
Goldsmith  was  eating  nothing  ; but  when 
Goldsmith,  in  his  nervousness,  began  to 
boast  of  the  fine  dinners  of  which  he  had 
partaken  at  Lord  Clare’s  house,  and  of  the 


144  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 


splendour  of  the  banquets  which  took  place 
daily  in  the  common  hall  of  Trinity  College, 
Dublin,  Johnson  gave  all  his  attention  to 
his  own  plate,  and  addressed  no  further 
word  to  him  — not  even  to  remind  him,  as 
he  described  the  glories  of  Trinity  College 
to  his  friend  Burke,  that  Burke  had  been 
at  the  college  with  him. 

While  there  was  still  plenty  of  time  to 
spare  even  for  walking  to  the  theatre. 
Goldsmith  left  the  room  hastily,  explaining 
elaborately  that  he  had  forgotten  to  brush 
his  hat  before  leaving  his  chambers,  and  he 
meant  to  have  the  omission  repaired  with- 
out delay. 

He  never  returned. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


The  party  remained  in  the  room  for 
some  time,  and  when  at  last  a waiter  from 
the  bar  was  sent  for  and  requested  to  tell 
Dr.  Goldsmith,  who  was  having*  his  hat 
brushed,  that  his  party  were  ready  to  leave 
the  house,  the  man  stated  that  Dr.  Gold- 
smith had  left  some  time  ag*o,  hurrying  in 
the  direction  of  Pall  Mall. 

“Psha!  sir,”  said  Johnson  to  Burke, 
“ Dr.  Goldsmith  is  little  better  than  a fool.” 
Johnson  did  not  know  what  such  nervous- 
ness as  Goldsmith’s  was. 

“Yes,”  said  Burke,  “Dr.  Goldsmith  is, 
I suppose,  the  greatest  fool  that  ever  wrote 
the  best  poem  of  a century,  the  best  novel 
of  a century,  and  let  us  hope  that,  after  the 
lapse  of  a few  hours,  I may  be  able  to  say 
the  best  comedy  of  a century.” 

“I  suppose  we  may  take  it  for  granted 
that  he  has  gone  to  the  playhouse?”  said 
Richard  Burke. 

“It  is  not  wise  to  take  anything  for 
granted  so  far  as  Goldsmith  is  concerned,” 
said  Steevens.  “I  think  that  the  best 

145 


146  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

course  we  can  adopt  is  for  some  of  us  to  go 
to  the  playhouse  without  delay.  The  play 
must  be  looked  after ; but  for  myself  I mean 
to  look  after  the  author.  Gentlemen,  Oliver 
Goldsmith  needs  to  be  looked  after  care- 
fully. No  one  knows  what  a burden  he  has 
been  forced  to  bear  during  the  past  month.” 
“You  think  it  is  actually  possible  that  he 
has  not  preceded  us  to  the  playhouse,  sir,” 
said  Johnson. 

“If  I know  anything  of  him,  sir,”  said 
Steevens,  “the  playhouse  is  just  the  place 
which  he  would  most  persistently  avoid.” 
There  was  a long  pause  before  Johnson 
said  in  his  weightiest  manner: 

“ Sir,  we  are  all  his  friends ; we  hold  you 
responsible  for  his  safety.” 

“That  is  very  kind  of  you,  sir,”  replied 
Steevens.  “ But  you  may  rest  assured  that 
I will  do  my  best  to  find  him,  wherever  he 
may  be.” 

While  the  rest  of  the  party  set  out  for 
Covent  Garden  Theatre,  Steevens  hurried 
off  in  the  opposite  direction.  He  felt  that 
he  understood  Goldsmith’s  mood.  He  be- 
lieved that  he  would  come  upon  him  sit- 
ting alone  in  some  little-frequented  coffee 
house  brooding  over  the  probable  failure  of 
his  play.  The  cheerful  optimism  of  the 
man,  which  enabled  him  to  hold  out  against 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  147 

Colman  and  his  sneers,  would,  he  was  con- 
vinced, suffer  a relapse  when  there  was  no 
urgent  reason  for  its  exercise,  and  his  nat- 
urally sanguine  temperament  would  at  this 
critical  hour  of  his  life  give  place  to  a brood- 
ing melancholy,  making  it  impossible  for 
him  to  put  in  an  appearance  at  the  theatre, 
and  driving  him  far  from  his  friends. 
Steevens  actually  made  up  his  mind  that  if 
he  failed  to  find  Goldsmith  during  the  next 
hour  or  two,  he  would  seek  him  at  his  cot- 
tage on  the  Edgware  road. 

He  went  on  foot  from  coffee  house  to 
coffee  house — from.  Jack’s,  in  Dean  street, 
to  the  Old  Bell,  in  Westminster  — but  he 
failed  to  discover  his  friend  in  one  of  them. 
An  hour  and  a half  he  spent  in  this  way ; 
and  all  this  time  roars  of  laughter  from 
every  part  of  the  playhouse — except  the 
one  box  that  held  Cumberland  and  his 
friends — were  greeting  the  brilliant  dia- 
logue, the  natural  characterisation,  and  the 
-admirably  contrived  situations  in  the  best 
comedy  that  a century  of  brilliant  authors 
had  witnessed. 

The  scene  comes  before  one  with  all  the 
vividness  that  many  able  pens  have  im- 
parted to  a description  of  its  details.  W e see 
the  enormous  figure  of  Dr.  Johnson  leaning 
far  out  of  the  box  nearest  the  stage,  with  a 


148  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

hand  behind  his  ear,  so  as  to  lose  no  word 
spoken  on  the  stage;  and  as  phrase  after 
phrase,  sparkling  with  wit,  quivering  with 
humour  and  vivified  with  numbers  of  allu- 
sions to  the  events  of  the  hour,  is  spoken, 
he  seems  to  shake  the  theatre  with  his 
laughter. 

Reynolds  is  in  the  opposite  corner,  his 
ear-trumpet  resting  on  the  ledge  of  the  box, 
his  face  smiling  thoughtfully ; and  between 
these  two  notable  figures  Miss  Reynolds  is 
seated  bolt  upright,  and  looking  rather 
frightened  as  the  people  in  the  pit  look  up 
now  and  again  at  the  box. 

Baretti  is  in  the  next  box  with  Angel- 
ica Kauffman,  Dr.  Burney  and  little  Miss 
Fanny  Burney,  destined  in  a year  or  two  to 
become  for  a time  the  most  notable  woman 
in  England.  On  the  other  side  of  the  house 
Lord  Clare  occupies  a box  with  his  charm- 
ing tom-boy  daughter,  who  is  convulsed 
with  laughter  as  she  hears  reference  made 
in  the  dialogue  to  the  trick  which  she  once 
played  upon  the  wig  of  her  dear  friend  the 
author.  General  Oglethorpe,  who  is  beside 
her,  holds  up  his  finger  in  mock  reproof, 
and  Lord  Camden,  standing  behind  his 
chair,  looks  as  if  he  regretted  having  lost 
the  opportunity  of  continuing  his  acquaint- 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  149 

ance  with  an  author  whom  every  one  is  so 
hig-hly  honouring-  at  the  moment. 

Cumberland  and  his  friends  are  in  a 
lower  box,  “looking-  glum,’'  as  one  witness 
asserts,  though  a good  many  years  later 
Cumberland  boasted  of  having  contributed 
in  so  marked  a way  to  the  applause  as  to 
call  forth  the  resentment  of  the  pit. 

In  the  next  box  Hugh  Kelly,  whose 
most  noted  success  at  Drury  Lane  a few 
years  previously  eclipsed  Goldsmith’s 
“Good-Natured  Man”  at  “the  other  house,” 
sits  by  the  side  of  Macpherson,  the  rhap- 
sodist  who  invented  “Ossian.”  He  glares 
at  Dr.  Johnson,  who  had  no  hesitation  in 
calling  him  an  impostor. 

The  Burkes,  Edmund  and  Richard,  are 
in  a box  with  Mrs.  Horneck  and  her  younger 
daughter,  who  follows  breathlessly  the 
words  with  which  she  has  for  long  been 
familiar,  and  at  every  shout  of  laughter 
that  comes  from  the  pit  she  is  moved 
almost  to  tears.  She  is  quite  unaware  of 
the  fact  that  Colonel  Gwyn,  sitting  alone  in 
another  part  of  the  house,  has  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  her  — earnestly,  affectionately.  Her 
brother  and  his  fiancee  are  in  a box  with 
the  Bunburys;  and  in  the  most  important 
box  in  the  house  Mrs.  Thrale  sits  well  for- 
ward, so  that  all  eyes  may  be  gratified  by 


150  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

beholding-  her.  It  does  not  so  much  matter 
about  her  husband,  who  once  thought  that 
the  fact  of  his  being  the  proprietor  of  a con- 
cern whose  operations  represented  the 
potentialities  of  wealth  beyond  the  dreams 
of  avarice  entitled  him  to  play  upon  the 
mother  of  the  Gunnings  when  she  first 
came  to  London  the  most  contemptible 
hoax  ever  recorded  to  the  eternal  discredit 
of  a man.  The  Duchess  of  Argyll,  mind- 
ful of  that  trick  which  the  cleverness  of 
her  mother  turned  to  so  good  account,  does 
not  condescend  to  notice  from  her  box,  where 
she  sits  with  Lady  Betty  Hamilton,  either 
the  brewer  or  his  pushing  wife,  though  she 
is  acquainted  with  old  General  Paoli,  whom 
the  latter  is  patronising  between  the  acts. 

What  a play  ! What  spectators  I 

We  listen  to  the  one  year  by  year  with 
the  same  delight  that  it  brought  to  those 
who  heard  it  this  night  for  the  first  time; 
and  we  look  with  delight  at  the  faces  of  the 
notable  spectators  which  the  brush  of  the 
little  man  with  the  ear-trumpet  in  Johnson’s 
box  has  made  immortal. 

Those  two  men  in  that  box  were  the 
means  of  conferring  immortality  upon  their 
century.  Incomparable  Johnson,  who  chose 
Boswell  to  be  his  biographer  ! Incompara- 
ble Reynolds,  who,  on  innumerable  can- 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  151 

vases,  handed  down  to  the  next  century  all 
the  grace  and  distinction  of  his  own  ! 

And  all  this  time  Oliver  Goldsmith  is 
pacing- with  bent  head  and  hands  nervously 
clasped  behind  him,  backward  and  forward, 
the  broad  walk  in  St.  James’s  Park. 

Steevens  came  upon  him  there  after 
spending  nearly  two  hours  searching  for 
him. 

“Don’t  speak,  man,  for  God’s  sake,” 
cried  Oliver.  “’Tisnotso  dark  but  that 
I can  see  disaster  imprinted  on  your  face. 
You  come  to  tell  me  that  the  comedy  is 
ended  — that  the  curtain  was  obliged  to  be 
rung  down  in  the  middle  of  an  act.  You 
come  to  tell  me  that  my  comedy  of  life  is 
ended.” 

“Not  I,”  said  Steevens.  “I  have  not 
been  at  the  playhouse  yet.  Why,  man, 
what  can  be  the  matter  with  you?  Why 
did  you  leave  us  in  the  lurch  at  the  coffee 
house  ?” 

“I  don’t  know  what  you  speak  of,”  said 
Goldsmith.  “ But  I beg  of  you  to  hasten  to 
the  playhouse  and  carry  me  the  news  of 
the  play  — don’t  fear  to  tell  me  the  worst; 
I have  been  in  the  world  of  letters  for 
nearly  twenty  years;  I am  not  easily  dis- 
mayed.” 


152  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

‘‘My  dear  friend,”  said  Steevens,  “I 
have  no  intention  of  going*  to  the  playhouse 
unless  you  are  in  my  company — I promised 
so  much  to  Dr.  Johnson.  What,  man,  have 
you  no  consideration  for  your  friends,  leav- 
ing yourself  out  of  the  question  ? Have  you 
no  consideration  for  your  art,  sir  ? ” 

“ What  do  you  mean  by  that  ? ” 

“I  mean  that  perhaps  while  you  are 
walking  here  some  question  may  arise  on 
the  stage  that  you,  and  you  only,  can  decide 
— are  you  willing  to  allow  the  future  of 
your  comedy  to  depend  upon  the  decision 
of  Colman,  who  is  not  the  man  to  let  pass  a 
chance  of  proving  himself  to  be  a true 
prophet  ? Come,  sir,  you  have  shown  your- 
self to  be  a man,  and  a great  man,  too,  be- 
fore to-night.  Why  should  your  courage 
fail  you  now  when  I am  convinced  you  are 
on  the  eve  of  achieving  a splendid  success?  ” 

“It  shall  not — it  shall  not ! ” cried  Gold- 
smith after  a short  pause.  “I’ll  not  give 
in  should  the  worst  come  to  the  worst.  I 
feel  that  I have  something  of  a man  in  me 
still.  The  years  that  I have  spent  in  this 
battle  have  not  crushed  me  into  the  earth. 
I ’ll  go  with  you,  my  friend  — I ’ll  go  with 
you.  Heaven  grant  that  I may  yet  be  in 
time  to  avert  disaster.” 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  153 

They  hurried  tog*ether  to  Charing* 
Cross,  where  a hackney  coach  was  obtain- 
able. All  the  time  it  was  lumbering*  along* 
the  uneven  streets  to  Covent  Garden, 
Goldsmith  was  talking*  excitedly  about  the 
likelihood  of  the  play  being  wrecked 
through  Colman’s  taking  advantage  of  his 
absence  to  insist  on  a scene  being  omitted 
— or,  perhaps,  a whole  act ; and  nothing 
that  Steevens  could  say  to  comfort  him  had 
any  effect. 

When  the  vehicle  turned  the  corner  into 
Covent  Garden  he  craned  his  head  out  of 
the  window  and  declared  that  the  people 
were  leaving  the  playhouse  — that  his 
worst  fears  were  realized. 

“Nonsense!”  cried  Steevens,  who  had 
put  his  head  out  of  the  other  window. 
“ The  people  you  see  are  only  the  footmen 
and  linkmen  incidental  to  any  performance. 
What,  man,  would  the  coachmen  beside  us 
be  dozing  on  their  boxes  if  they  were  wait- 
ing to  be  called  ? No,  my  friend,  the  com- 
edy has  yet  to  be  damned.” 

When  they  got  out  of  the  coach  Gold- 
smith hastened  round  to  the  stage  door, 
looking  into  the  faces  of  the  people  who 
were  lounging  around,  as  if  to  see  in  each 
of  them  the  fate  of  his  play  written.  He 
reached  the  back  of  the  stage  and  made  for 


154  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

where  Colman  was  standing,  just  as  Quick, 
in  the  part  of  Tony  Lumpkin,  was  telling 
Mrs.  Hardcastle  that  he  had  driven  her 
forty  miles  from  her  own  house,  when  all 
the  time  she  was  within  twenty  yards  of  it. 
In  a moment  he  perceived  that  the  lights 
were  far  too  strong;  unless  Mrs.  Hardcastle 
was  blind  she  could  not  have  failed  to  rec- 
ognise the  familiar  features  of  the  scene. 
The  next  moment  there  came  a hiss  — a 
solitary  hiss  from  the  boxes. 

“ What ’s  that,  Mr.  Colman  ? ” whis- 
pered the  excited  author. 

“Psha!  sir,”  said  Colman  brutally. 
“ Why  trouble  yourself  about  a squib  when 
we  have  all  been  sitting  on  a barrel  of  gun- 
powder these  two  hours  ? ” 

“ That ’s  a lie,”  said  Shuter,  who  was  in 
the  act  of  going  on  the  stage  as  Mr.  Hard- 
castle. “ ’Tis  a lie.  Dr.  Goldsmith.  The 
success  of  your  play  was  assured  from  the 
first.” 

“By  God  ! Mr.  Colman,  if  it  is  a lie  I ’ll 
never  look  on  you  as  a friend  while  I live  I ” 
said  Goldsmith. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


It  was  a lie,  and  surely  the  most  cruel  and 
most  objectless  lie  ever  uttered.  Gold- 
smith was  soon  made  aware  of  this.  The 
laug-hter  that  followed  Tony  Lumpkin’s 
pretending  to  his  mother  that  Mr.  Hard- 
castle  was  a highwayman  was  not  the  laugh 
of  playgoers  who  have  endured  four  acts  of 
a dull  play;  it  was  the  laugh  of  people  who 
have  been  in  a good  humour  for  over  two 
hours,  and  Goldsmith  knew  it.  He  perceived 
from  their  laughter  that  the  people  in  every 
part  of  the  house  were  following  the  comedy 
with  extraordinary  interest.  Every  point 
in  the  dialogue  was  effective — the  exquisite 
complications,  the  broad  fun,  the  innumer- 
able touches  of  nature,  all  were  appreciated 
by  an  audience  whose  expression  of  grati- 
fication fell  little  short  of  rapture. 

When  the  scene  was  being  shifted  Col- 
man  left  the  stage  and  did  not  return  to  it 
until  it  was  his  duty  to  come  forward  after 
the  epilogue  was  spoken  by  Mrs.  Bulkley 
and  announce  the  date  of  the  author’s  night. 

155 


156  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

As  soon  as  the  manag-er  had  disappeared 
Goldsmith  had  a chance  of  speaking  to  sev- 
eral of  the  actors  at  intervals  as  they  made 
their  exits,  and  from  them  he  learned  the 
whole  truth  regarding  the  play:  from  the 
first  scene  to  the  one  which  was  being 
represented,  the  performance  had  been  a 
succession  of  triumphs,  not  only  for  the 
author,  but  for  every  member  of  the  com- 
pany concerned  in  the  production.  With 
old  dresses  and  scenery  familiar  to  all  fre- 
quenters of  the  playhouse,  the  extraordin- 
ary success  of  the  comedy  was  beyond  all 
question.  The  allusion  to  the  .offensive 
terms  of  the  Royal  Marriage  Act  was  espe- 
cially relished  by  the  audience,  several  of 
the  occupants  of  the  pit  rising  to  their  feet 
and  cheering  for  some  time — so  much  Gold- 
smith learned  little  by  little  at  intervals 
from  the  actors. 

“ I swore  never  to  look  on  Colman  as  my 
friend  again,  and  I’ll  keep  my  word;  he  has 
trated  me  cruelly  — more  cruelly  than  he 
has  any  idea  of,”  said  Goldsmith  to  Lee 
Lewes.  “ But  as  for  you,  Mr.  Lewes,  I ’ll  do 
anything  that  is  in  my  power  for  you  in  the 
future.  My  poor  play  owes  much  to  you, 
sir.” 

“Faith  then,  sir,”  cried  Lewes,  “I’ll 
keep  you  to  your  word.  My  benefit  will 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  157 

take  place  in  a short  time;  I ’ll  ask  you  for  a 
prolog-ue,  Dr.  Goldsmith,” 

“You  shall  have  the  best  prolog*ue  I 
ever  wrote,”  said  Goldsmith. 

And  so  he  had. 

When  the  house  was  still  cheering*  at  the 
conclusion  of  the  epilogue,  Goldsmith,  over- 
come with  emotion,  hurried  into  the  g-reen 
room.  Mrs.  Abington  was  the  first  person 
whom  he  met.  She  held  down  her  head, 
and  affected  a g*uffty  look  as  she  g-lanced  at 
him  sideways  through  half-closed  eyes. 

“Dr.  Goldsmith,”  she  said  in  a tone 
modulated  to  a point  of  humility,  “I  hope 
in  your  hour  of  triumph  you  will  be  gener- 
ous to  those  who  were  foolish  enough  to 
doubt  the  greatness  of  your  work.  Oh,  sir, 
I pray  of  you  not  to  increase  by  your  taunts 
the  humiliation  which  I feel  at  having  re- 
signed my  part  in  your  comedy.  Believe 
me,  I have  been  punished  sufficiently  during 
the  past  two  hours  by  hearing  the  words, 
which  I might  have  spoken,  applauded  so 
rapturously  coming  from  another.” 

“Taunts,  my  dear  madam;  who  speaks 
of  taunts?”  said  he.  “Nay,  I have  a part 
in  my  mind  for  you  already  — that  is,  if  you 
will  be  good  enough  to  accept  it.” 

“Oh,  sir,  you  are  generosity  itself!” 
cried  the  actress,  offering  him  both  her 


158  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 


hands.  ‘M  shall  not  fail  to  remind  you  of 
your  promise,  Dr.  Goldsmith.” 

And  now  the  green  room  was  being 
crowded  by  the  members  of  the  company 
and  the  distinguished  friends  of  the  author, 
who  were  desirous  of  congratulating  him. 
Dr.  Johnson’s  voice  filled  the  room  as  his 
laughter  had  filled  the  theatre. 

“We  perceived  the  reason  of  your  extra- 
ordinary and  unusual  modesty.  Dr.  Gold- 
smith, before  your  play  was  many  minutes 
on  the  stage,”  said  he.  “You  dog,  you  took 
as  your  example  the  Italians  who,  on  the 
eve  of  Lent,  indulge  in  a carnival,  celebrat- 
ing their  farewell  to  flesh  by  a feast.  On 
the  same  analogy  you  had  a glut  of  modesty 
previous  to  bidding  modesty  good-bye  for- 
ever; for  to-night’s  performance  will  surely 
make  you  a coxcomb.” 

“Oh,  I hope  not,  sir,”  said  Goldsmith. 
“ No,  you  don’t  hope  it,  sir,”  cried  John- 
son. “You  are  thinking  at  this  moment 
how  much  better  you  are  than  your  betters 
— I see  it  on  your  face,  you  rascal.” 

“And  he  has  a right  to  think  so,”  said 
Mrs.  Bunbury.  “ Come,  Dr.  Goldsmith, 
speak  up,  say  something  insulting  to  your 
betters.” 

“Certainly,  madam,”  said  Goldsmith. 
“ Where  are  they  ? ” 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  159 

“ Well  said  ! ” cried  Edmund  Burke. 

“Nay,  sir,”  said  Johnson.  “Dr.  Gold- 
smith’s satire  is  not  strong-  enough.  We 
expected  something  more  violent.  ’Tis 
like  landing  one  in  one’s  back  garden  when 
one  has  looked  for  Crackskull  Common.” 

His  mighty  laughter  echoed  through  the 
room  and  made  the  pictures  shake  on  the 
walls. 

Mary  Horneck  had  not  spoken.  She  had 
merely  given  her  friend  her  hand.  She 
knew  that  he  would  understand  her  unut- 
tered congratulations,  and  she  was  not 
mistaken. 

For  the  next  quarter  of  an  hour  there 
was  an  exchange  of  graceful  wit  and  gra- 
cious compliment  between  the  various  per- 
sons of  distinction  in  the  greenroom.  Mrs. 
Thrale,  with  her  usual  discrimination,  con- 
ceived the  moment  to  be  an  opportune  one 
for  putting  on  what  she  fondly  imagined 
was  an  Irish  brogue,  in  rallying  Goldsmith 
upon  some  of  the  points  in  his  comedy. 
Miss  Kauffman  and  Signor  Baretti  spoke 
Italian  into  Reynolds’s  ear-trumpet,  and 
Edmund  Burke  talked  wittily  in  the  back- 
ground with  the  Bunburys. 

So  crowded  the  room  was,  no  one  seemed 
to  notice  how  an  officer  in  uniform  had 
stolen  up  to  the  side  of  Mary  Horneck 


160  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

where  she  stood  behind  Mr.  Thrale  and 
General  Oglethorpe,  and  had  withdrawn 
her  into  a corner,  saying  a whispered  word 
to  her.  No  one  seemed  to  observe  the  action, 
though  it  was  noticed  by  Goldsmith.  He 
kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  girl,  and  per- 
ceived that,  while  the  man  was  speaking  to 
her,  her  eyes  were  turned  upon  the  floor 
and  her  left  hand  was  pressed  against  her 
heart. 

He  kept  looking  at  her  all  the  time  that 
Mrs.  Thrale  was  rattling  out  her  inanities, 
too  anxious  to  see  what  effect  she  was  pro- 
ducing upon  the  people  within  ear-shot  to 
notice  that  the  man  whom  she  was  address- 
ing was  paying  no  attention  to  her. 

When  the  others  as  well  ceased  to  pay 
any  attention  to  her,  she  thought  it  advis- 
able to  bring  her  prattle  to  a close. 

“Psha!  Dr.  Goldsmith,”  she  cried.  “We 
have  given  you  our  ears  for  more  than  two 
hours,  and  yet  you  refuse  to  listen  to  us  for 
as  many  minutes.” 

“I  protest,  madam,  that  I have  been 
absorbed,”  said  Goldsmith.  “ Yes,  you 
were  remarking  that ” 

“ That  an  Irishman,  when  he  achieves  a 
sudden  success,  can  only  be  compared  to 
a boy  who  has  robbed  an  orchard,”  said  the 
lady. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  161 

“True  — very  true,  madam,”  said  he. 
He  saw  Mary  Horneck’s  hands  clasp  invol- 
untarily for  a moment  as  she  spoke  to  the 
man  who  stood  smiling*  beside  her.  She 
was  not  smiling*. 

“Yes,  ’tis  true  ; but  why  ? ” cried  Mrs. 
Thrale,  taking*  care  that  her  voice  did  not 
appeal  to  Goldsmith  only. 

“Ah,  yes;  that’s  just  it  — why?”  said 
he.  Mary  Horneck  had  turned  away  from 
the  officer,  and  was  coming*  slowly  back  to 
where  her  sister  and  Henry  Bunbury  were 
standing*. 

“ Why  ? ” said  Mrs.  Thrale  shrilly. 
“Why?  Why  is  an  Irishman  who  has  be- 
come suddenly  successful  like  a boy  who 
has  robbed  an  orchard  ? Why,  because  his 
booty  so  distends  his  body  that  any  one  can 
perceive  he  has  g*ot  in  his  pockets  what  he 
is  not  entitled  to.” 

She  looked  around  for  appreciation,  but 
failed  to  find  it.  She  certainly  did  not  per- 
ceive any  appreciation  of  her  pleasantry  on 
the  face  of  the  successful  Irishman  before 
her.  He  was  not  watching*  Mary  now.  All 
his  attention  was  given  to  the  man  to  whom 
she  had  been  talking,  and  who  had  gone  to 
the  side  of  Mrs.  Abington,  where  he  re- 
mained chatting  with  even  more  animation 


162  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

than  was  usual  for  one  to  assume  in  the 
green  room. 

“You  will  join  us  at  supper,  Dr.  Gold- 
smith ? ” said  Mr.  Thrale. 

“ Nay,  sir  ! ” cried  Bunbury  ; “ mine  is  a 
prior  claim.  Dr.  Goldsmith  agreed  some 
days  ago  to  honour  my  wife  with  his  com- 
pany to-night.” 

“What  did  I say,  Goldy?”  cried  John- 
son. “ Was  it  not  that,  after  the  presenta- 
tion of  the  comedy,  you  would  receive  a 
hundred  invitations  ? ” 

“Well,  sir,  I have  only  received  two 
since  my  play  was  produced,  and  one  of 
them  I accepted  some  days  ago,”  said  the 
Irishman,  and  Mrs.  Thrale  hoped  she  would 
be  able  to  remember  the  bull  in  order  to 
record  it  as  conclusive  evidence  of  Gold- 
smith’s awkwardness  of  speech. 

But  Burke,  who  knew  the  exact  nature 
of  the  Irish  bull,  only  smiled.  He  laughed, 
however,  when  Goldsmith,  assuming  the 
puzzled  expression  of  the  Irishman  who 
adds  to  the  humour  of  his  bull  by  pretend- 
ing that  it  is  involuntary,  stumbled  care- 
fully in  his  words,  simulating  a man  anx- 
ious to  explain  away  a mistake  th^t  he  has 
made.  Goldsmith  excelled  at  this  form  of 
humour  but  too  well;  hence,  while  the  pages 
of  every  book  that  refers  to  him  are 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  163 

crowded  with  his  brilliant  saying’s,  the 
writers  quote  Garrick’s  lines  in  proof  — 
proof  positive,  mind  — that  he  ‘‘  talked  like 
poor  Poll.”  He  is  the  first  man  on  record 
who  has  been  condemned  solely  because  of 
the  exigencies  of  rhyme,  and  that,  too,  in 
the  dogg-erel  couplet  of  the  most  unscrupu- 
lous jester  of  the  century. 

Mary  Horneck  seems  to  have  been  the 
only  one  who  understood  him  thoroug-hly. 
She  has  left  her  appreciation  of  his  humour 
on  record.  The  expression  which  she  per- 
ceived upon  his  face  immediately  after  he 
had  g-iven  utterance  to  some  delightful 
witticism  — which  the  recording-  demons 
around  him  delighted  to  turn  against  him- 
self— was  the  expression  which  makes 
itself  apparent  in  Reynolds’s  portrait  of 
him.  The  man  who  “talked  like  poor 
Poll  ” was  the  man  who,  even  before  he  had 
done  anything  in  literature  except  a few 
insignificant  essays,  was  visited  by  Bishop 
Percy,  though  every  visit  entailed  a climb 
up  a rickety  staircase  and  a seat  on  a rick- 
ety stool  in  a garret.  Perhaps,  however, 
the  fastidious  Percy  was  interested  in  orni- 
thology and  was  ready  to  put  himself  to 
great  inconvenience  in  order  to  hear  parrot- 
talk. 


164  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

While  he  was  preparing  to  go  with  the 
Bimburys,  Goldsmith  noticed  that  the  man 
who,  after  talking  with  Mary  Horneck,  had 
chatted  with  Mrs.  Abington,  had  disap- 
peared; and  when  the  party  whom  he  was 
accompanying  to  supper  had  left  the  room 
he  remained  for  a few  moments  to  make 
his  adieux  to  the  players.  He  shook  hands 
with  Mrs.  Abington,  saying  — 

“Have  no  fear  that  I shall  forget  my 
promise,  madam.” 

“I  shall  take  good  care  that  you  don’t, 
sir,”  said  she. 

“Do  not  fancy  that  I shall  neglect  my 
own  interests !”  he  cried,  bowing  as  he 
took  a step  away  from  her.  When  he 
had  taken  another  step  he  suddenly  re- 
turned to  her  as  if  a sudden  thought  had 
struck  him.  “ Why,  if  I wasn’t  going 
away  without  asking  you  what  is  the  name 
of  the  gentleman  in  uniform  who  was  speak- 
ing with  you  just  now,”  said  he.  “I  fancy 
I have  met  him  somewhere,  and  one  doesn’t 
want  to  be  rude.” 

“His  name  is  Jackson,”  she  replied. 
“Yes,  Captain  Jackson,  though  the  Lord 
only  knows  what  he  is  captain  of.” 

“I  have  been  mistaken;  I know  no  one  of 
that  name,”  said  Goldsmith.  “ ’ Tis  as 
well  I made  sure;  one  may  affront  a gentle- 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  165 

man  as  easily  by  professing-  to  have  met 
him  as  by  forg-etting-  that  one  has  done  so.” 

When  he  g-ot  outside,  he  found  that 
Mary  Horneck  has  been  so  g-reatly  affected 
by  the  heat  of  the  playhouse  and  the  excite- 
ment of  the  occasion,  she  had  thoug-ht  it 
prudent  to  g-o  away  with  the  Reynoldses  in 
their  coach  — her  mother  had  preceded  her 
by  nearly  half  an  hour. 

The  Bunburys  found  that  apparently 
the  excitement  of  the  evening- had  produced 
a similar  effect  upon  their  g-uest.  Although 
he  admitted  having  eaten  no  dinner — John- 
son and  his  friends  had  been  by  no  means 
reticent  on  the  subject  of  the  dinner  — he 
was  without  an  appetite  for  the  delightful 
little  supper  which  awaited  him  at  Mrs. 
Bunbury’s.  It  was  in  vain  too  that  his  hos- 
tess showed  herself  to  be  in  high  spirits, 
and  endeavoured  to  rally  him  after  her  own 
delightful  fashion.  He  remained  almost 
speechless  the  whole  evening. 

“Ah,”  said  she,  “I  perceive  clearly  that 
your  Little  Comedy  has  been  quite  obscured 
by  your  great  comedy.  But  wait  until  we 
get  you  down  with  us  at  Barton ; you  will 
find  the  first  time  we  play  loo  together  that 
a little  comedy  may  become  a great  trag- 
edy.” 


166  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

Bunbury  declared  that  he  was  as  poor 
company  during*  the  supper  as  if  his  play 
had  been  a mortifying*  failure  instead  of  a 
triumphant  success,  and  Goldsmith  admit- 
ted that  this  was  true,  taking  his  departure 
as  soon  as  he  could  without  being  rude. 

He  walked  slowly  through  the  empty 
streets  to  his  chambers  in  Brick  Court. 
But  it  was  almost  daylight  before  he  went 
to  bed. 

All  his  life  he  had  been  looking  forward 
to  this  night  — the  night  that  should  put 
the  seal  upon  his  reputation,  that  should 
give  him  an  incontestable  place  at  the  head 
of  the  imaginative  writers  of  his  period. 
And  yet,  now  that  the  fame  for  which  he 
had  struggled  with  destiny  was  within  his 
grasp,  he  felt  more  miserable  than  he  had 
ever  felt  in  his  garret. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


What  did  it  all  mean? 

That  was  the  question  which  was  on  his 
mind  when  he  awoke.  It  did  not  refer  to 
the  reception  given  to  “She  Stoops  to  Con- 
quer,” which.had  placed  him  in  the  position 
he  had  longed  for;  it  had  reference  solely 
to  the  strange  incident  which  had  occurred 
in  the  green  room. 

The  way  Mrs.  Abington  had  referred  to 
the  man  with  whom  Mary  had  been  speak- 
ing was  sufficient  to  let  him  know  that  he 
was  not  a man  of  reputation  — he  certainly 
had  not  seemed  to  Goldsmith  to  be  a man  of 
reputation  either  when  he  had  seen  him  at 
the  Pantheon  or  in  the  green  room.  He 
had  worn  an  impudent  and  forward  manner 
which,  in  spite  of  his  glaring  good  looks 
that  might  possibly  make  him  acceptable  in 
the  eyes  of  such  generous  ladies  as  Mrs. 
Abington,  Mrs.  Bulkley  or  Mrs.  Woffing- 
ton, showed  that  he  was  a person  of  no 
position  in  society.  This  conclusion  to 
which  Goldsmith  had  come  was  confirmed 
by  the  fact  that  no  persons  of  any  distinc- 

167 


168  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

tion  who  had  been  present  at  the  Pantheon 
or  the  playhouse  had  shown  that  they  were 
acquainted  with  him  — no  one  person  save 
only  Mar}7'  Horneck. 

Mary  Horneck  had  by  her  act  bracketed 
herself  with  Mrs.  Abington  and  Mrs.  Bulk- 
ley. 

This  he  felt  to  be  a very  terrible  thing. 
A month  ago  it  would  have  been  incredible 
to  him  that  such  a thing  could  be.  Mary 
Horneck  had  invariably  shunned  in  society 
those  persons  — women  as  well  as  men  — 
who  had  shown  themselves  to  be  wanting 
in  modesty.  She  had  always  detested  the 
man  — he  was  popular  enough  at  that  period 
— who  had  allowed  innuendoes  to  do  duty 
for  wit;  and  she  had  also  detested  the 
woman  — she  is  popular  enough  now  — who 
had  laughed  at  and  made  light  of  the  in- 
nuendoes, bordering  upon  impropriety,  of 
such  a man. 

And  yet  she  had  by  her  own  act  placed 
herself  on  a level  with  the  least  fastidious 
of  the  persons  for  whom  she  had  always 
professed  a contempt.  The  Duchess  of 
Argyll  and  Lady  Ancaster  had,  to  be  sure, 
shaken  hands  with  the  two  actresses;  but 
the  first  named  at  least  had  done  so  for  her 
own  ends,  and  had  got  pretty  well  sneered 
at  in  consequence.  Mary  Horneck  stood 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  169 

in  a very  different  position  from  that  occu- 
pied by  the  Duchess.  While  not  deficient 
in  charity,  she  had  declined  to  follow  the 
lead  of  any  leader  of  fashion  in  this  matter, 
and  had  held  aloof  from  the  actresses. 

And  yet  he  had  seen  her  in  secret  con- 
versation with  a man  at  whom  one  of  these 
same  actresses  had  not  hesitated  to  sneer 
as  an  impostor  — a man  who  was  clearly 
unacquainted  with  any  other  member  of 
her  family. 

What  could  this  curious  incident  mean  ? 

The  letters  which  had  come  from  various 
friends  congratulating*  him  upon  the  suc- 
cess of  the  comedy  lay  unheeded  by  him  by 
the  side  of  those  which  had  arrived — not  a 
post  had  been  missed — from  persons  who 
professed  the  most  disinterested  friend- 
ship for  him,  and  were  anxious  to  borrow 
from  him  a trifle  until  they  also  had  made 
their  success.  Men  whom  he  had  rescued 
from  starvation,  from  despair,  from  suicide, 
and  who  had,  consequently,  been  living*  on 
him  ever  since,  beg*g*ed  that  he  would  con- 
tinue his  contributions  on  a more  liberal 
scale  now  that  he  had  in  so  marked  a way 
improved  his  own  position.  But,  for  the 
first  time,  their  letters  lay  unread  and  un- 
answered. (Three  days  actually  passed 
before  he  sent  his  g*uineas  flying*  to  the 


170  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

deserving-  and  the  undeserving- alike.  That 
was  how  he  contrived  to  g-et  rid  of  the 
thousands  of  pounds  which  he  had  earned 
since  leaving-  his  g-arret.) 

His  man  servant  had  never  before  seen 
him  so  depressed  as  he  was  when  he  left 
his  chambers. 

He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  go  to  Mary 
and  tell  her  that  he  had  seen  what  no  one 
else  either  in  the  Pantheon  or  in  the  green 
room  had  seemed  to  notice  in  regard  to 
that  man  whose  name  he  had  learned  was 
Captain  Jackson — he  would  tell  her  and 
leave  it  to  her  to  explain  what  appeared  to 
him  more  than  mysterious.  If  any  one  had 
told  him  in  respect  to  another  girl  all  that 
he  had  noticed,  he  would  have  said  that 
such  a matter  required  no  explanation;  he 
had  heard  of  the  intrigues  of  young  girls 
with  men  of  the  stamp  of  that  Captain 
Jackson.  With  Mary  Horneck,  however, 
the  matter  was  not  so  easily  explained.  The 
shrug  and  the  raising  of  the  eyebrows  were 
singularly  inappropriate  to  any  considera- 
tion of  an  incident  in  which  she  was  con- 
cerned. 

He  found  before  he  had  gone  far  from 
his  chambers  that  the  news  of  the  success 
of  the  comedy  had  reached  his  neighbours. 
He  was  met  by  several  of  the  students  of 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  171 

the  Temple,  with  whom  he  had  placed  him- 
self on  terms  of  the  pleasantest  familiarity, 
and  they  all  g*reeted  him  with  a cordiality, 
the  sincerity  of  which  was  apparent  on  their 
beaming*  faces.  Among*  them  was  one  youth 
named  Grattan,  who,  being*  an  Irishman, 
had  early  found  a friend  in  Goldsmith.  He 
talked  years  afterward  of  this  early  friend- 
ship of  his. 

Then  the  head  porter.  Ginger,  for  whom 
Goldsmith  had  always  a pleasant  word,  and 
whose  wife  was  his  laundress — not  wholly 
above  suspicion  as  regards  her  honesty — 
stammered  his  congratulations,  and  re- 
ceived the  crown  which  he  knew  was  cer- 
tain; and  Goldsmith  began  to  feel  what  he 
had  always  suspected — that  there  was  a 
great  deal  of  friendliness  in  the  world  for 
men  who  have  become  successful. 

Long  before  he  had  arrived  at  the  house 
of  the  Hornecks  he  was  feeling  that  he 
would  be  the  happiest  man  in  London  or 
the  most  miserable  before  another  hour 
would  pass. 

He  was  fortunate  enough  to  find,  on 
arriving  at  the  house,  that  Mary  was  alone. 
Mrs.  Horneck  and  her  son  had  gone  out 
together  in  the  coach  some  time  before,  the 
servant  said,  admitting  him,  for  he  was  on 
terms  of  such  intimacy  with  the  family  the 


m THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

man  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  inquire  if 
Miss  Horneck  would  see  him.  The  man 
was  g-rinning*  from  ear  to  ear  as  he  admitted 
the  visitor. 

“ I hope,  Doctor,  that  I know  my  business 
better  than  Digg*ory,”  he  said,  his  g-rin 
expanding-  g*enially. 

“Ah!  so  you  were  one  of  the  gentlemen 
in  the  gallery?”  said  Goldsmith.  “You 
had  my  destiny  in  your  keeping  for  two 
hours  ?” 

“I  thought  I ’d  ha’  dropped,  sir,  when  it 
came  to  Diggory  at  the  table — and  Mr. 
Marlow’s  man,  sir — as  drunk  as  a lord.  ‘ I 
don’t  know  what  more  you  want  unless 
you ’d  have  had  him  soused  in  a beer  bar- 
rel,’says  he  quite  cool-like  and  satisfied — 
and  it’s  the  gentleman’s  own  private  house, 
after  all.  Oh,  Lord!  Oh,  Lord!  Didn’t 
Sir  Joshua’s  Ralph  laugh  till  he  thought 
our  neighbours  would  think  it  undignified- 
like,  and  then  sent  us  off  worse  than  ever 
by  trying  to  look  solemn.  Only  some  fools 
about  us  said  the  drunk  servant  was  un- 
genteel;  but  young  Mr.  Northcote — Sir 
Joshua’s  young  man,  sir — he  up  and  says 
that  nature  isn’t  always  genteel,  and  that 
nature  was  above  gentility,  and  so  forth — I 
beg  your  pardon.  Doctor,  what  was  I think- 
ing of?  Why,  sir,  Diggory  himself  couldn’t 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  173 

ha’  done  worse  than  me — talking-  so  famil- 
iar-like, instead  of  showing  you  up.” 

“ Nay,  sir,”  said  Goldsmith,  “ the  patron 
has  the  privilege  of  addressing  his  humble 
servant  at  what  length  he  please.  You  are 
one  of  my  patrons,  George ; but  strike  me 
dumb,  sir,  I ’ll  be  patronised  by  you  no 
longer;  and,  to  put  a stop  to  your  airs,  I ’ll 
give  you  half  a dozen  tickets  for  my  benefit, 
and  that  will  turn  the  tables  on  you,  my  fine 
fellow.” 

‘‘Oh,  Doctor,  you  are  too  kind,  sir,” 
whispered  the  man,  for  he  had  led  the  way 
to  the  drawing-room  door.  “I  hope  I’ve 
not  been  too  bold,  sir.  If  I told  them  in  the 
kitchen  about  forgetting  myself  they ’d  dub 
me  Diggory  without  more  ado.  There  ’ll 
be  Diggorys  enough  in  the  servants’  halls 
this  year,  sir.” 

In  another  moment  Goldsmith  was  in 
the  presence  of  Mary  Horneck. 

She  was  seated  on  a low  chair  at  the  win- 
dow. He  could  not  fail  to  notice  that  she 
looked  ill,  though  it  was  not  until  she  had 
risen,  trying  to  smile,  that  he  saw  how  very 
ill  she  was.  Her  face,  which  he  had  scarcely 
ever  seen  otherwise  than  bright,  had  a worn 
appearance,  her  eyes  were  sunken  through 
much  weeping,  and  there  was  a frightened 
look  in  them  that  touched  him  deeply. 


174  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“You  will  believe  me  when  I say  how 
sorry  I was  not  to  be  able  to  do  honour  last 
nig*ht  to  the  one  whom  I honour  most  of  all 
men,”  she  said,  g-ivinghim  her  hand.  “But 
it  was  impossible — oh,  quite  impossible,  for 
me  to  sup  even  with  my  sister  and  you. 
Ah,  it  was  pitiful!  considering  how  I had 
been  looking  forward  to  your  night  of  tri- 
umph, my  dear  friend.” 

“It  was  pitiful,  indeed,  dear  child,”  said 
he.  “I  was  looking  forward  to  that  night 
also  — I don’t  know  for  how  many  years  — 
all  my  life,  it  seems  to  me.” 

“ Never  mind!”  she  cried,  with  a feeble 
attempt  at  brightness.  “Never  mind ! your 
night  of  triumph  came,  and  no  one  can  take 
it  away  from  you  now;  every  one  in  the  town 
is  talking  of  your  comedy  and  its  success.” 
“There  is  no  one  to  whom  success  is 
sweeter  than  it  is  to  me,”  said  Goldsmith. 
“But  you  know  me  too  well,  my  Jessamy 
Bride,  to  think  for  a single  moment  that  I 
could  enjoy  my  success  when  my  dearest 
friend  was  miserable.” 

“I  know  it,”  she  said,  giving  him  her 
hand  once  more.  “ I know  it,  and  knowing 
it  last  night  only  made  me  feel  more  miser- 
able.” 

“ What  is  the  matter,  Mary?”  he  asked 
her  after  a pause.  “ Once  before  I begged 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  175 

of  you  to  tell  me  if  you  could.  I say  ag*ain 
that  perhaps  I may  be  able  to  help  you  out 
of  your  trouble,  though  I know  that  I am 
not  a man  of  many  resources.” 

“I  cannot  tell  you,”  she  said  slowly,  but 
with  great  emphasis.  “There  are  some 
sorrows  that  a woman  must  bear  alone.  It 
is  Heaven’s  decree  that  a woman’s  sorrow 
is  only  doubled  when  she  tries  to  share  it 
with  another  — either  with  a sister  or  with 
a brother  — even  so  good  a friend  as  Oliver 
Goldsmith.” 

“That  such  should  be  your  thought 
shows  how  deep  is  your  misery,”  said  he. 
“I  cannot  believe  that  it  could  be  increased 
by  your  confiding  its  origin  to  me.” 

“Ah,  I see  everything  but  too  plainly,” 
she  cried,  throwing  herself  down  on  her 
chair  once  more  and  burying  her  face  in 
her  hands.  “Why,  all  my  misery  arises 
from  the  possibility  of  some  one  knowing 
whence  it  arises.  Oh,  I have  said  too  much,  ” 
she  cried  piteously.  She  had  sprung  to  her 
feet  and  was  standing  looking  with  eager 
eyes  into  his.  “ Pray  forget  what  I have 
said,  my  friend.  The  truth  is  that  I do  not 
know  what  I say;  oh,  pray  go  away  — go 
away  and  leave  me  alone  with  my  sorrow  — 
it  is  my  own  — no  one  has  a right  to  it  but 
myself.” 


176  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

There  was  actually  a note  of  jealousy  in 
her  voice,  and  there  came  a little  flash  from 
her  eyes  as  she  spoke. 

“ No,  I will  not  go  away  from  you,  my 
poor  child,”  said  he.  “You  shall  tell  me 
flrst  what  that  man  to  whom  I saw  you 
speak  in  the  green  room  last  night  has  to 
do  with  your  sorrow.” 

She  did  not  give  any  visible  start  when 
he  had  spoken.  There  was  a curious  look 
of  cunning  in  her  eyes  — a look  that  made 
him  shudder,  so  fo^^eign  was  it  to  her 
nature,  which  was  ingenuous  to  a fault. 

“ A man  ? Did  I speak  to  a man  ? ” she 
said  slowly,  affecting  an  endeavour  to  recall 
a half-forgotten  incident  of  no  importance. 
“ Oh,  yes,  I suppose  I spoke  to  quite  a num- 
ber of  men  in  the  green  room.  How 
crowded  it  was  ! And  it  became  so  heated  I 
Ah,  how  terrible  the  actresses  looked  in 
their  paint!  — almost  as  terrible  as  a lady 
of  quality  ! ” 

“Poor  child!”  said  he.  “My  heart 
bleeds  for  you.  In  striving  to  hide  every- 
thing from  me  you  have  told  me  all  — all 
except  — listen  to  me,  Mary.  Nothing 
that  I can  hear — nothing  that  you  can  tell 
me  — will  cause  me  to  think  the  least  that  is 
ill  of  you  ; but  I have  seen  enough  to  make 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  177 

me  aware  that  that  man  — Captain  Jackson, 

he  calls  himself ’’ 

“ How  did  you  find  out  his  name  ? ” she 
said  in  a whisper.  “I  did  not  tell  you  his 
name  even  at  the  Pantheon.” 

“ No,  you  did  not ; but  yet  I had  no  dif- 
ficulty in  finding*  it  out.  Tell  me  why  it  is 
that  you  should  be  afraid  of  that  man.  Do 
you  not  know  as  well  as  I do  that  he  is  a 
rascal  ? Good  heavens  ! Mary,  could  you 
fail  to  see  rascal  written  on  his  counte- 
nance for  all  men  and  women  to  read  ? ” 
“He  is  worse  than  you  or  any  one  can 

imagine,  and  yet ” 

“How  has  he  got  you  in  his  power  — 
that  is  what  you  are  going  to  tell  me.” 

“No,  no;  that  is  impossible.  You  do 
not  know  what  you  ask.  You  do  not  know 
me,  or  you  would  not  ask  me  to  tell  you.” 
“What  would  you  have  me  think, child?” 
“ Think  the  worst — the  worst  that  your 
kind  heart  can  think — only  leave  me — leave 
me.  God  may  prove  less  unkind  than  He 
seems  to  me.  I may  soon  die.  ‘ The  only 
way  her  guilt  to  cover.  ’ ” 

“I  cannot  leave  you,  and  I say  again  that 
I refuse  to  believe  anything  ill  of  you.  Do 
you  really  think  that  it  is  possible  for  me 
to  have  written  so  much  as  I have  written 
about  men  and  women  without  being  able 


178  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

to  know  when  a woman  is  altog*ether  good 
— a man  altogether  bad  ? I know  you,  my 
dear,  and  I have  seen  him.  Why  should  you 
be  afraid  of  him  ? Think  of  the  friends  you 
have.” 

“ It  is  the  thought  of  them  that  frightens 
me.  I have  friends  now,  but  if  they  knew 
all  that  that  man  can  tell,  they  would  fly 
from  me  with  loathing.  Oh ! when  I think  of 
it  all,  I abhor  myself.  Oh,  fool,  fool,  fool  I 
Was  ever  woman  such  a fool  before  ? ” 

“For  God’s  sake,  child,  don’t  talk  in 
that  strain.” 

“It  is  the  only  strain  in  which  I can 
talk.  It  is  the  cry  of  a wretch  who  stands 
on  the  brink  of  a precipice  and  knows  that 
hands  are  being  thrust  out  behind  to  push 
her  over.” 

She  tottered  forward  with  wild  eyes, 
under  the  influence  of  her  own  thought. 
He  caught  her  and  supported  her  in  his 
arms. 

“ That  shows  you,  my  poor  girl,  that  if 
there  are  unkind  hands  behind  you,  there 
are  still  some  hands  that  are  ready  to  keep 
your  feet  front  slipping.  There  are  hands 
that  will  hold  you  back  from  that  precipice, 
or  else  those  who  hold  them  out  to  you  will 
go  over  the  brink  with  you.  Ah,  my  dear, 
dear  girl,  nothing  can  happen  to  make  you 


THE  JS:SSAMY  BRIDE  179 

despair.  In  another  year  — perhaps  in 
another  month  — you  will  wonder  how  you 
could  ever  have  taken  so  gloomy  a view  of 
the  present  hour.” 

A gleam  of  hope  came  into  her  eyes. 
Only  for  an  instant  it  remained  there,  how- 
ever. Then  she  shook  her  head,  saying  — 

“Alas!  Alas!” 

She  seated  herself  once  more,  but  he 
retained  her  hand  in  one  of  his  own,  laying 
his  other  caressingly  on  her  head. 

“ You  are  surely  the  sweetest  girl  that 
ever  lived,”  said  he.  “You  fill  with  your 
sweetness  the  world  through  which  I walk. 
I do  not  say  that  it  would  be  a happiness 
for  me  to  die  for  you,  for  you  know  that  if 
my  dying  could  save  you  from  your  trouble 
I would  not  shrink  from  it.  What  I do  say 
is  that  I should  like  to  live  for  you  — to  live 
to  see  happiness  once  again  brought  to  you. 
And  yet  you  will  tell  me  nothing  — you  will 
not  give  me  a chance  of  helping  you.” 

She  shook  her  head  sadly. 

“I  dare  not  — I dare  not,”  she  said.  “I 
dare  not  run  the  chance  of  forfeiting  your 
regard  forever.” 

“Good-bye,”  he  said  after  a pause. 

He  felt  her  fingers  press  his  own  for  a 
moment;  then  he  dropped  her  hand  and 


180  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

walked  toward  the  door.  Suddenly,  how- 
ever, he  returned  to  her. 

“Mary,”  he  said,  “I  will  seek  no  more 
to  learn  your  secret;  I will  only  beg*  of  you 
to  promise  me  that  you  will  not  meet  that 
man  again — that  you  will  hold  no  communi- 
cation with  him.  If  you  were  to  be  seen  in 
the  company  of  such  a man  — talking  to 
him  as  I saw  you  last  night  — what  would 
people  think  ? The  world  is  always  ready 
to  put  the  worst  possible  construction  upon 
anything  unusual  that  it  sees.  You  will 
promise  me,  my  dear  ? ” 

“Alas!  alas!”  she  cried  piteously.  “I 
cannot  make  you  such  a promise.  You 
will  not  do  me  the  injustice  to  believe  that 
I spoke  to  him  of  my  own  free  will?” 

“ What,  you  would  have  me  believe  that 
he  possesses  sufficient  power  over  you  to 
make  you  do  his  bidding  ? Great  God ! 
that  can  never  be  ! ” 

“ That  is  what  I have  said  to  myself  day 
by  day;  he  cannot  possess  that  power  over 
me  — he  cannot  be  such  a monster  as  to 
. . • oh,  I cannot  speak  to  you  more ! 

Leave  me  — leave  me  ! I have  been  a fool 
and  I must  pay  the  penalty  of  my  folly.” 
Before  he  could  make  a reply,  the  door 
was  opened  and  Mrs.  Bunbury  danced  into 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  181 

the  room,  her  mother  following-  more  se- 
dately and  with  a word  of  remonstrance. 

“Nonsense,  dear  Mamma,”  cried  Little 
Comedy.  “ What  Mary  needs  is  some  one 
who  will  raise  her  spirits  — Dr.  Goldsmith, 
for  instance.  He  has,  I am  sure,  laug-hed 
her  out  of  her  whimsies.  Have  you  suc- 
ceeded, Doctor  ? Nay,  you  don’t  look  like 
it,  nor  does  she,  poor  thing  ! I felt  certain 
that  you  would  be  in  the  act  of  reading  a 
new  comedy  to  her,  but  I protest  it  would 
seem  as  if  it  was  a tragedy  that  engrossed 
your  attention.  He  doesn’t  look  particu- 
larly like  our  agreeable  Rattle  at  the  pres- 
ent moment,  does  he.  Mamma  ? And  it  was 
the  same  at  supper  last  night.  It  might 
have  been  fancied  that  he  was  celebrating 
a great  failure  instead  of  a huge  success.” 

For  the  next  quarter  of  an  hour  the 
lively  girl  chatted  away,  imitating  the  vari- 
ous actors  who  had  taken  part  in  the  com- 
edy, and  giving  the  author  some  account  of 
what  the  friends  whom  she  had  met  that 
day  said  of  the  piece.  He  had  never  before 
felt  the  wearisomeness  of  a perpetually 
sparkling  nature.  Her  laughter  grated 
upon  his  ears;  her  gaiety  was  out  of  tune 
with  his  mood.  He  took  leave  of  the  fam- 
ily at  the  first  breathing  space  that  the  girl 
permitted  him, 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


He  felt  that  the  result  of  his  interview 
with  Mary  was  to  render  more  mysterious 
than  ever  the  question  which  he  had  hoped 
to  solve. 

He  wondered  if  he  was  more  clumsy  of 
apprehension  than  other  men,  as  he  had 
come  away  from  her  without  learning-  her 
secret.  He  was  shrewd  enoug-h  to  know 
that  the  majority  of  men  to  whom  he  mig-ht 
give  a detailed  account  of  his  interview 
with  the  girl  — a detailed  account  of  his 
observation  of  her  upon  the  appearance  of 
Captain  Jackson  first  at  the  Pantheon,  then 
in  the  green  room  of  Covent  Garden  — 
would  have  no  trouble  whatever  in  account- 
ing for  her  behaviour  upon  both  occasions. 
He  could  see  the  shrugs  of  the  cynical,  the 
head-shakings  of  those  who  professed  to  be 
vastly  grieved. 

Ah,  they  did  not  know  this  one  girl. 
They  were  ready  to  lump  all  womankind 
together  and  to  suppose  that  it  would  be 

impossible  for  one  woman  to  be  swayed 
18^ 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  183 

by  other  impulses  than  were  common  to 
womankind  generally, 

But  he  knew  this  girl,  and  he  felt  that  it 
was  impossible  to  believe  that  she  was 
otherwise  than  good.  Nothing  would  force 
him  to  think  anything  evil  regarding  her. 

“ She  is  not  as  others,  ” was  the  phrase 
that  was  in  his  mind  — the  thought  that 
was  in  his  heart. 

He  did  not  pause  to  reflect  upon  the 
strangeness  of  the  circumstance  that  when 
a man  wishes  to  think  the  best  of  a woman 
he  says  she  is  not  as  other  women  are. 

He  did  not  know  enough  of  men  and 
women  to  be  aware  of  the  fact  that  when  a 
man  makes  up  his  mind  that  a woman  is 
altogether  different  from  other  women,  he 
loves  that  woman. 

He  felt  greatly  grieved  to  think  that  he 
had  been  unable  to  search  out  the  heart  of 
her  mystery;  but  the  more  he  recalled  of 
the  incidents  that  had  occurred  upon  the 
two  occasions  when  that  man  Jackson  had 
been  in  the  same  apartment  as  Mary  Hor- 
neck,  the  more  convinced  he  became  that 
the  killing  of  that  man  would  tend  to  a 
happy  solution  of  the  question  which  was 
puzzling  him. 

After  giving  this  subject  all  his  thought 
for  the  next  day  or  two,  he  went  to  his 


184  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

friend  Baretti,  and  presented  him  with 
tickets  for  one  of  the  author’s  nights  for 
“She  Stoops  to  Conquer.”  Baretti  was  a 
well  known  personage  in  the  best  literary 
society  in  London,  having  consolidated  his 
reputation  by  the  publication  of  his  English 
and  Italian  dictionary.  He  had  been  John- 
son’s friend  since  his  first  exile  from  Italy, 
and  it  was  through  his  influence  Baretti,  on 
the  formation  of  the  Royal  Academy,  had 
been  appointed  Secretary  for  Foreign  Cor- 
respondence. To  Johnson  also  he  owed 
the  more  remunerative  appointment  of 
Italian  tutor  at  the  Thrales’.  He  had  fre- 
quently dined  with  Goldsmith  at  his  cham- 
bers. 

Baretti  expressed  himself  grateful  for 
the  tickets,  and  complimented  the  author 
of  the  play  upon  his  success. 

“If  one  may  measure  the  success  of  a 
play  by  the  amount  of  envy  it  creates  in 
the  breasts  of  others,  yours  is  a huge 
triumph,”  said  the  Italian. 

“Yes,”  said  Goldsmith  quickly,  “that 
is  just  what  I wish  to  have  a word  with  you 
about.  The  fact  is,  Baretti,  I am  not  so 
good  a swordsman  as  I should  be.” 

“What,”  cried  Baretti,  smiling  as  he 
looked  at  the  man  before  him,  who  had  cer- 
tainly not  the  physique  of  the  ideal  swords- 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  185 

man.  “ What,  do  you  mean  to  fig-ht  your 
detractors?  Take  my  advice,  my  friend^ 
let  the  pen  be  your  weapon  if  such  is  your 
intention.  If  you  are  attacked  with  the  pen 
you  should  reply  with  the  same  weapon, 
and  with  it  you  may  be  pretty  certain  of 
victory.” 

“Ah,  yes;  but  there  are  cases  — well, 
one  never  knows  what  may  happen,  and  a 
man  in  my  position  should  be  prepared  for 
any  emergency.  I can  do  a little  sword 
play  — enough  to  enable  me  to  face  a mod- 
erately good  antagonist.  A pair  of  cox- 
combs insulted  me  a few  days  ago  and  I 
retorted  in  a way  that  I fancy  might  be 
thought  effective  by  some  people.” 

“ How  did  you  retort?  ” 

“ Well,  I warned  the  passers-by  that  the 
pair  were  pickpockets  disguised  as  gentle- 
men.” 

“Bacchus!  An  effective  retort!  And 
then ” 

“ Then  I turned  down  a side  street  and 
half  drew  my  sword ; but,  after  making  a 
feint  of  following  me,  they  gave  themselves 
over  to  a bout  of  swearing  and  went  on. 
What  I wish  is  to  be  directed  by  you  to  any 
compatriot  of  yours  who  would  give  me 
lessons  in  fencing.  Do  you  know  of  any 
first-rate  master  of  the  art  in  London?  ” 


186  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

The  Italian  could  not  avoid  laughing, 
Goldsmith  spoke  so  seriously. 

“ You  would  like  to  find  a maestro  who 
would  be  capable  of  turning  you  into  a 
first-rate  swordsman  within  the  space  of  a 
week?  ” 

“ Nay,  sir,  I am  not  unreasonable;  I 
would  give  him  a fortnight.’ 

“Better  make  it  five  years.” 

“Five  years?” 

“ My  dear  friend,  I pray  of  you  not  to 
make  me  your  first  victim  if  I express  to 
you  my  opinion  that  you  are  not  the  sort  of 
man  who  can  be  made  a good  swordsman. 
You  were  born,  not  made,  a poet,  and  let 
me  tell  you  that  a man  must  be  a born 
swordsman  if  he  is  to  take  a front  place 
among  swordsmen.  I am  in  the  same  situ- 
ation as  yourself : I am  so  short-sighted  I 
could  make  no  stand  against  an  antagonist. 
No,  sir,  I shall  never  kill  a man.” 

He  laughed  as  men  laugh  who  do  not 
understand  what  fate  has  in  store  for  them. 

“ I have  made  up  my  mind  to  have  some 
lessons,”  said  Goldsmith,  “and  I know 
there  are  no  better  teachers  than  your 
countrymen,  Baretti.” 

“Psha!”  said  Baretti.  “There  are 
clever  fencers  in  Italy,  just  as  there  are  in 
England.  But  if  you  have  made  up  your 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  187 

mind  to  have  an  Italian  teacher,  I shall  find 
out  one  for  you  and  send  him  to  your 
chambers.  If  you  are  wise,  however,  you 
will  stick  to  your  pen,  which  you  wield  with 
such  dexterity,  and  leave  the  more  harm- 
less weapon  to  others  of  coarser  fiber  than 
yourself.” 

“ There  are  times  when  it  is  necessary 
for  the  most  pacific  of  men  — nay,  even  an 
Irishman  — to  show  himself  adroit  with  a 
sword,”  said  Goldsmith  ; “and  so  I shall  be 
forever  g-rateful  to  you  for  your  services 
towards  this  end.” 

He  was  about  to  walk  away  when  a 
thought  seemed  to  strike  him. 

“ You  will  add  to  my  debt  to  you  if  you 
allow  this  matter  to  go  no  further  than  our- 
selves. You  can  understand  that  I have  no 
particular  wish  to  place  myself  at  the 
mercy  of  Dr.  Johnson  or  Garrick,”  said  he. 
“ I fancy  I can  see  Garrick’s  mimicry  of  a 
meeting  between  me  and  a fencing  master.” 

“I  shall  keep  it  a secret,”  laughed 
Baretti;  “but  mind,  sir,  when  you  run  your 
first  man  through  the  vitals  you  need  not 
ask  me  to  attend  the  court  as  a witness  as 
to  your  pacific  character.” 

(When  the  two  did  appear  in  court  it 
was  Goldsmith  who  had  been  called  as  a 
witness  on  behalf  of  Baretti,  who  stood  in 


188  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

the  dock  charg*ed  with  the  murder  of  a 
man.) 

He  felt  very  much  better  after  leaving- 
Baretti.  He  felt  that  he  had  taken  at  least 
one  step  on  behalf  of  Mary  Horneck.  He 
knew  his  own  nature  so  imperfectly  that  he 
thoug-ht  if  he  were  to  eng-ag-e  in  a duel  with 
Captain  Jackson  and  disarm  him  he  would 
not  hesitate  to  run  him  throug-h  a vital  part. 

He  returned  to  his  chambers  and  found 
awaiting-  him  a .number  of  papers  contain- 
ing- some  flattering-  notices  of  his  comedy, 
and  lampoons  upon  Colman  for  his  persist- 
ent ill  treatment  of  the  play.  In  fact,  the 
topic  of  the  town  was  Colman’s  want  of 
judg-ment  in  reg-ard  to  this  matter,  and  so 
strongly  did  the  critics  and  lampooners, 
malicious  as  well  as  genial,  express  them- 
selves, that  the  manager  found  life  in  Lon- 
don unbearable.  He  posted  off  to  Bath, but 
only  to  find  that  his  tormentors  had  taken 
good  care  that  his  reputation  should  pre- 
cede him  thither.  His  chastisement  with 
whips  in  London  was  mild  in  comparison 
with  his  chastisement  with  scorpions  at 
Bath ; and  now  Goldsmith  found  waiting  for 
him  a letter  from  the  unfortunate  man  im- 
ploring the  poet  to  intercede  for  him,  and 
get  the  lampooners  to  refrain  from  molest- 
ing him  further. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  189 

If  Goldsmith  had  been  in  a mood  to 
appreciate  a triumph  he  would  have  enjoyed 
reading-  this  letter  from  the  man  who  had 
given  him  so  many  months  of  pain.  He 
was  not,  however,  in  such  a mood.  He 
looked  for  his  triumph  in  another  direction. 

After  dressing  he  went  to  the  Mitre  for 
dinner,  and  found  in  the  tavern  several  of 
his  friends.  Cradock  had  run  up  from  the 
country,  and  with  him  were  Whitefoord  and 
Richard  Burke. 

He  was  rather  chilled  at  his  reception 
by  the  party.  They  were  all  clearly  ill  at 
ease  in  his  presence  for  some  reason  of 
which  he  was  unaware ; and  when  he  began 
to  talk  of  the  criticisms  which  his  play  had 
received,  the  uneasiness  of  his  friends 
became  more  apparent. 

He  could  stand  this  unaccountable  be- 
haviour no  longer,  and  inquired  what  was 
the  reason  of  their  treating  him  so  coldly. 

“You  were  talking  about  me  just  before 
I entered,”  said  he:  “I  always  know  on 
entering  a room  if  my  friends  have  been 
talking  about  me.  Now,  may  I ask  what 
this  admirable  party  were  saying  regarding 
me?  Tell  it  to  me  in  your  own  way.  I don’t 
charge  you  to  be  frank  with  me.  F rankness 
I hold  to  be  an  excellent  cloak  for  one’s  real 
opinion.  Tell  me  all  that  you  can  tell  — as 


190  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

simply  as  you  can  — without  prejudice  to 
your  own  reputation  for  oratory,  Richard. 
What  is  the  matter,  sir?” 

Richard  Burke  usually  was  the  merriest 
of  the  company,  and  the  most  fluent.  But 
now  he  looked  down,  and  the  tone  was  far 
from  persuasive  in  which  he  said  — 

“You  may  trust  — whatever  may  he 
spoken,  or  written,  about  you.  Goldsmith — 
we  are  your  unalterable  friends.” 

“Psha,  sir!”  cried  Goldsmith,  “don’t I 
know  that  already?  Were  you  not  all  my 
friends  in  my  day  of  adversity,  and  do  you 
expect  me  suddenly  to  overthrow  all  my 
ideas  of  friendship  by  assuming  that  now 
that  I have  bettered  my  position  in  the  world 
my  friends  will  be  less  friendly?” 

“Goldsmith,”  said  Steevens,  “we  re- 
ceived a copy  of  the  London  Packet  half  an 
hour  before  you  entered.  We  were  discuss- 
ing the  most  infamous  attack  that  has  ever 
been  made  upon  a distinguished  man  of  let- 
ters.” 

“At  the  risk  of  being  thought  a conceited 
puppy,  sir,  I suppose  I may  assume  that  the 
distinguished  man  of  letters  which  the 
article  refers  to  is  none  other  than  myself,” 
said  Goldsmith. 

“ It  is  a foul  and  scurrilous  slander  upon 
you,  sir,”  said  Steevens.  “It  is  the  most 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  191 

contemptible  thing-  ever  penned  by  that 
scoundrel  Kenrick.” 

“Do  not  annoy  yourselves  on  my  account, 
g-entlemen,”  said  Goldsmith.  “You  know 
how  little  I think  of  anything  that  Kenrick 
may  write  of  me.  Once  I made  him  eat  his 
words,  and  the  fit  of  indigestion  that  that 
operation  caused  him  is  still  manifest.in  all 
he  writes  about  me.  I tell  you  that  it  is  out 
of  the  power  of  that  cur  to  cause  me  any 
inconvenience.  Where  is  the  Packet^  ” 
“There  is  no  gain  in  reading  such  con- 
temptible stuff,”  said  Cradock.  “ Take  my 
advice,  Goldsmith,  do  not  seek  to  become 
aware  of  the  precise  nature  of  that  scoun- 
drel’s slanders.” 

“ Nay,  to  shirk  them  would  be  to  suggest 
that  they  have  the  power  to  sting  me,” 
replied  Goldsmith.  “And  so,  sir,  let  me 
have  the  Packet^  and  you  shall  see  me  read 
the  article  without  blenching.  I tell  you, 
Mr.  Cradock,  no  man  of  letters  is  deserving 
of  an  eulogy  who  is  scared  by  a detraction.” 
“Nay,  Goldsmith,  but  one  does  not 
examine  under  a magnifying  glass  the  gar- 
bage that  a creature  of  the  kennel  flings  at 
one,”  said  Steevens. 

“Come,  sirs,  I insist,”  cried  Goldsmith. 
“Why  do  I waste  time  with  you?”  he  added, 
turning  round  and  going  to  the  door  of  the 


192  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

room.  “ I waste  time  here  when  I can  read 
the  Packet  in  the  bar.” 

“Hold,  sir,”  said  Burke.  “Here  is  the 
thing*.  If  you  will  read  it,  you  would  do 
well  to  read  it  where  you  will  find  a dozen 
hands  stretched  forth  to  you  in  affection 
and  sympathy.  Oliver  Goldsmith,  this  is 
the  paper  and  here  are  our  hands.  We  look 
on  you  as  the  greatest  of  English  writers 
— the  truest  of  English  poets — the  best  of 
Englishmen.” 

“You  overwhelm  me,  sir.  After  this, 
what  does  it  matter  if  Kenrick  flings  him- 
self upon  me?” 

He  took  the  Packet.  It  opened  auto- 
matically, where  an  imaginary  letter  to  him- 
self, signed  “Tom  Tickle,”  appeared. 

He  held  it  up  to  the  light;  a smile  was 
at  first  on  his  features ; he  had  nerved  him- 
self to  the  ordeal.  His  friends  would  not 
find  that  he  shrank  from  it — he  even  smiled, 
after  a manner,  as  he  read  the  thing — but 
suddenly  his  jaw  fell,  his  face  became  pale. 
In  another  second  he  had  crushed  the  paper 
between  his  hands.  He  crushed  it  and  tore 
it,  and  then  flung  it  on  the  floor  and  trampled 
on  it.  He  walked  to  and  fro  in  the  room 
with  bent  head.  Then  he  did  a strange 
thing:  he  removed  his  sword  and  placed  it 
in  a corner,  as  if  he  were  going  to  dine,  and, 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  193 

without  a word  to  any  of  his  friends,  left 
the  room,  carrying  with  him  his  cane 
only. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Kenrick’s  article  in  the  London  Packet 
remains  to  this  day  as  the  vilest  example  of 
scurrility  published  under  the  form  of  criti- 
cism. All  the  venom  that  can  be  eng*en- 
dered  by  envy  and  malice  appears  in  every 
line  of  it.  It  contains  no  sug-g-estion  of 
literary  criticism ; it  contains  no  clever 
phrase.  It  is  the  shriek  of  a vulg*ar  wretch 
dominated  by  the  demon  of  jealousy.  The 
note  of  the  Gadarene  herd  sounds  throug-h 
it,  strident  and  strenuous.  It  exists  as  the 
worst  outcome  of  the  period  when  every 
garret  scribbler  emulated  “Junius,”  both 
as  regards  style  and  method,  but  only  suc- 
ceeded in  producing  the  shriek  of  a wildcat, 
instead  of  the  thunder  of  the  unknown 
master  of  vituperation. 

Goldsmith  read  the  first  part  of  the 
scurrility  without  feeling  hurt;  but  when 
he  came  to  that  vile  passage — “For  hours 
the  great  Goldsmith  will  stand  arranging 
his  grotesque  orang-outang  figure  before  a 

pier-glass.  Was  but  the  lovely  H k as 

much  enamoured,  you  would  not  sigh,  my 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  195 

gentle  swain” — his  hands  tore  the  paper 
in  fury. 

He  had  received  abuse  in  the  past  with- 
out being  affected  by  it.  He  did  not  know 
much  about  natural  history,  but  he  knew 
enough  to  make  him  aware  of  the  fact  that 
the  skunk  tribe  cannot  change  their  nature. 
He  did  not  mind  any  attack  that  might  be 
made  upon  himself;  but  to  have  the  name 
that  he  most  cherished  of  all  names  asso- 
ciated with  his  in  an  insult  that  seemed  to 
him  diabolical  in  the  manner  of  its  delivery, 
was  more  than  he  could  bear.  He  felt  as  if 
a foul  creature  had  crept  behind  him  and 
had  struck  from  thence  the  one  who  had 
been  kindest  to  him  of  all  the  people  in  the 
world. 

There  was  the  horrible  thing  printed  for 
all  eyes  in  the  town  to  read.  There  was  the 
thing  that  had  in  a moment  raised  a barrier 
between  him  and  the  girl  who  was  all  in  all 
to  him.  How  could  he  look  Mary  Horneck 
in  the  face  again?  How  could  he  ever  meet 
any  member  of  the  family  to  whom  he  had 
been  the  means  of  causing  so  much  pain  as 
the  Hornecks  would  undoubtedly  feel  when 
they  read  that  vile  thing?  He  felt  that  he 
himself  was  to  blame  for  the  appearance  of 
that  insult  upon  the  girl.  He  felt  that  if 
the  attack  had  not  been  made  upon  him  she 


1%  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

would  certainly  have  escaped.  Yes,  that 
blow  had  been  struck  by  a hand  that 
stretched  over  him  to  her. 

His  first  impulse  had  sent  his  hand  to 
his  sword.  He  had  shown  himself  upon 
several  occasions  to  be  a brave  man ; but 
instead  of  drawing*  his  sword  he  had  taken 
it  off  and  had  placed  it  out  of  the  reach  of 
his  hands. 

And  this  was  the  man  who,  a few  hours 
earlier  in  the  day,  had  been  assuming*  that 
if  a certain  man  were  in  his  power  he  would 
not  shrink  from  running  him  through  the 
body  with  his  sword. 

On  leaving  the  Mitre  he  did  not  seek 
any  one  with  whom  he  might  take  counsel 
as  to  what  course  it  would  be  wise  for  him 
to  pursue.  He  knew  that  he  had  adopted  a 
wise  course  when  he  had  placed  his  sword 
in  a corner  ; he  felt  he  did  not  require  any 
further  counsel.  His  mind  was  made  up 
as  to  what  he  should  do,  and  all  that  he 
now  feared  was  that  some  circumstance 
might  prevent  his  realising  his  intention. 

He  grasped  his  cane  firmly,  and  walked 
excitedly  to  the  shop  of  Evans,  the  pub- 
lisher of  the  London  Packet.  He  arrived 
almost  breathless  at  the  place  — it  was  in 
Little  Queen  street  — and  entered  the  shop 
demanding  to  see  Kenrick,  who,  he  knew 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  197 

was  employed  on  the  premises.  Evans,  the 
publisher,  being-  in  a room  the  door  of 
which  was  open,  and  hearing*  a stranger’s 
voice  speaking  in  a high  tone,  came  out  to 
the  shop.  Goldsmith  met  him,  asking  to 
see  Kenrick ; and  Evans  denied  that  he 
was  in  the  house. 

“I  require  you  to  tell  me  if  Kenrick  is  the 
writer  of  that  article  upon  me  which  ap- 
peared in  the  Packet  of  to-day.  My  name 
is  Goldsmith  ! ” said  the  visitor. 

The  shopkeeper  smiled. 

“ Does  anything  appear  about  you  in 
the  Paxket^  sir?”  he  said,  over-emphasis- 
ing the  tone  of  complete  ignorance  and  in- 
quiry. 

“You  are  the  publisher  of  the  foul 
thing,  you  rascal ! ” cried  Goldsmith,  stung 
by  the  supercilious  smile  of  the  man  ; “ you 
are  the  publisher  of  this  gross  outrage 
upon  an  innocent  lady,  and,  as  the  ruffian 
who  wrote  it  struck  at  her  through  me,  so 
I strike  at  him  through  you.” 

He  rushed  at  the  man,  seized  him  by 
the  throat,  and  struck  at  him  with  his  cane. 
The  bookseller  shouted  for  help  while  he 
struggled  with  his  opponent,  and  Kenrick 
himself,  who  had  been  within  the  shelter  of 
a small  wooden-partitioned  office  from  the 
moment  of  Goldsmith’s  entrance,  and  had, 


198  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

consequently,  overheard  every  word  of  the 
recrimination  and  all  the  noise  of  the  scuffle 
that  followed,  ran  to  the  help  of  his  pay- 
master. It  was  quite  in  keeping*  with  his 
cowardly  nature  to  hold  back  from  the  cane 
of  Evans’s  assailant.  He  did  so,  and,  look- 
ing* round  for  a missile  to  fling  at  Gold- 
smith, he  caught  up  a heavy  lamp  that 
stood  on  a table  and  hurled  it  at  his 
enemy’s  head.  Missing  this  mark,  how- 
ever, it  struck  Evans  on  the  chest  and 
knocked  him  down.  Goldsmith  falling  over 
him.  This  Kenrick  perceived  to  be  his 
chance.  He  lifted  one  of  the  small  shop 
chairs  and  rushed  forward  to  brain  the  man 
whom  he  had  libelled  ; but,  before  he  could 
carry  out  his  purpose,  a man  ran  into  the 
shop  from  the  street,  and,  flinging  him  and 
the  chair  into  a corner,  caught  Goldsmith, 
who  had  risen,  by  the  shoulder  and  hurried 
him  into  a hackney-coach,  which  drove 
away. 

The  man  was  Captain  Higgins.  When 
Goldsmith  had  failed  to  return  to  the  room 
in  the  Mitre  where  he  had  left  his  sword, 
his  friends  became  uneasy  regarding  him, 
and  Higgins,  suspecting  his  purpose  in 
leaving  the  tavern,  had  hastened  to  Evans’s, 
hoping  to  be  in  time  to  prevent  the  assault 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  199 

which  he  felt  certain  Goldsmith  intended  to 
commit  upon  the  person  of  Kenrick, 

He  ordered  the  coachman  to  drive  to  the 
Temple,  and  took  advantag-e  of  the  occa- 
sion to  lecture  the  excited  man  upon  the 
impropriety  of  his  conduct.  A lecture  on 
the  disg-race  attached  to  a public  fig*ht, 
when  delivered  in  a broad  Irish  brog-ue,  can 
rarely  be  effective,  and  Captain  Higg-ins’s 
counsel  of  peace  only  called  for  Goldsmith’s 
ridicule. 

“Don’t  tell  me  what  I ought  to  have 
done  or  what  I ought  to  have  abstained  from 
doing,”  cried  the  still  breathless  man.  “I 
did  what  my  manhood  prompted  me  to  do, 
and  that  is  just  what  you  would  have  done 
yourself,  my  friend.  God  knows  I didn’t 
mean  to  harm  Evans  — it  was  that  reptile 
Kenrick  whom  I meant  to  flail;  but  when 
Evans  undertook  to  shelter  him,  what  was 
left  to  me,  I ask  you,  sir?  ” 

“You  were  a fool,  Oliver,”  said  his 
countryman;  “you  made  a great  mistake. 
Can’t  you  see  that  you  should  never  go 
about  such  things  single-handed?  You 
should  have  brought  with  you  a full-sized 
friend  who  would  not  hesitate  to  use  his 
fists  in  the  interests  of  fair  play.  Why  the 
devil,  sir,  didn’t  you  give  me  a hint  of 


200  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

what  was  on  your  mind  when  you  left  the 
tavern?  ” 

“Because  I didn’t  know  myself  what 
was  on  my  mind,”  replied  Goldsmith. 
“And,  besides,”  he  added,  “I  ’m  not  the 
man  to  carry  bruisers  about  with  me  to 
engag-e  in  my  quarrels.  I don’t  reg*ret 
what  I have  done  to-day.  I have  taug-ht 
the  reptiles  a lesson,  even  though  I have  to 
pay  for  it.  Kenrick  won’t  attack  me  again 
so  long  as  I am  alive.” 

He  was  right.  It  was  when  he  was 
lying  in  his  cof&n,  yet  uiiburied,  that  Ken- 
rick made  his  next  attack  upon  him  in  that 
scurrility  of  phrase  of  which  he  was  a 
master. 

When  this  curious  exponent  of  the  ad- 
vantages of  peace  had  left  him  at  Brick 
Court,  and  his  few  incidental  bruises  were 
attended  to  by  John  Eyles,  poor  Oliver’s 
despondency  returned  to  him.  He  did  not 
feel  very  like  one  who  has  got  the  better  of 
another  in  a quarrel,  though  he  knew  that 
he  had  done  all  that  he  said  he  had  done:  he 
had  taught  his  enemies  a lesson. 

But  then  he  began  to  think  about  Mary 
Horneck,  who  had  been  so  grossly  insulted 
simply  because  of  her  kindness  to  him.  He 
felt  that  if  she  had  been  less  gracious  to 
him  — if  she  had  treated  him  as  Mrs. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  201 

Thrale,  for  example,  had  been  accustomed 
to  treat  him  — regarding*  him  and  his  de- 
fects merely  as  excuses  for  displaying  her 
own  wit,  shei  would  have  escaped  all  men- 
tion by  Kenrick.  Yes,  he  still  felt  that  he 
was  the  cause  of  her  being  insulted,  and  he 
would  never  forgive  himself  for  it. 

But  what  did  it  matter  whether  he  for- 
gave himself  or  not?  It  was  the  forgive- 
ness of  Mary  Horneck  and  her  friends  that 
he  had  good  reason  to  think  about. 

The  longer  he  considered  this  point  the 
more  convinced  he  became  that  he  had  for- 
feited forever  the  friendship  which  he  had 
enjoyed  for  several  years,  and  which  had 
been  a dear  consolation  to  him  in  his  hours 
of  despondency.  A barrier  had  been  raised 
between  himself  and  the  Hornecks  that 
could  not  be  surmounted. 

He  sat  down  at  his  desk  and  wrote  a 
letter  to  Mary,  asking  her  forgiveness  for 
the  insult  for  which  he  said  he  felt  himself 
to  be  responsible.  He  could  not,  he  added, 
expect  that  in  the  future  it  would  be  allowed 
to  him  to  remain  on  the  same  terms  of 
intimacy  with  her  and  her  family  as  had 
been  permitted  to  him  in  the  past. 

Suddenly  he  recollected  the  unknown 
trouble  which  had  been  upon  the  girl  when 
he  had  last  seen  her.  She  was  not  yet  free 


202  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

from  that  secret  sorrow  which  he  had 
hoped  it  mig-ht  be  in  his  power  to  dispel. 
He  and  he  only  had  seen  Captain  Jackson 
speaking*  to  her  in  the  g*reen  room  at  Co- 
vent Garden,  and  he  only  had  g*ood  reason 
to  believe  that  her  sorrow  had  orig*inated 
with  that  man.  Under  these  circumstances 
he  asked  himself  if  he  was  justified  in  leav- 
ing* her  to  fight  her  battle  alone.  She  had 
not  asked  him  to  be  her  champion,  and  he 
felt  that  if  she  had  done  so,  it  was  a very 
poor  champion  that  he  would  have  made; 
but  still  he  knew  more  of  her  grief  than 
any  one  else,  and  he  believed  he  might  be 
able  to  help  her. 

He  tore  up  the  letter  which  he  had 
written  to  her. 

“I  will  not  leave  her,”  he  cried.  “What- 
ever may  happen  — whatever  blame  people 
who  do  not  understand  may  say  I have 
earned,  I will  not  leave  her  until  she  has 
been  freed  from  whatever  distress  she 
is  in.” 

He  had  scarcely  seated  himself  when 
his  servant  announced  Captain  Horneck. 

For  an  instant  Goldsmith  was  in  trepi- 
dation. Mary  Horneck’s  brother  had  no 
reason  to  visit  him  except  as  he  himself 
had  visited  Evans  and  Kenrick.  But  with 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  203 

the  sound  of  Captain  Horneck’s  voice  his 
trepidation  passed  away. 

“Ha,  my  little  hero!”  Horneck  cried 
before  he  had  quite  crossed  the  threshold. 
“ What  is  this  that  is  the  talk  of  the  town  ? 
Good  Lord!  what  are  thing-s  coming-  to 
when  the  men  of  letters  have  taken  to  beat- 
ing- the  booksellers  ? ” 

“You  have  heard  of  it?”  said  Oliver. 
“You  have  heard  of  the  quarrel,  but  you 
cannot  have  heard  of  the  reason  for  it!  ” 
“What,  there  is  something*  behind  the 
London  Packet,  3.fier  all?”  cried  Captain 
Horneck. 

“Something-  behind  it  — something-  be- 
hind that  slander — the  mention  of  your 
sister’s  name,  sir?  What  should  be  be- 
hind it,  sir?  ” 

“My  dear  old  Nolly,  do  you  fancy  that 
the  friendship  which  exists  between  my 
family  and  you  is  too  weak  to  withstand 
such  a strain  as  this  — a strain  put  upon  it 
by  a vulg-ar  scoundrel,  whose  malice  so  far 
as  you  are  concerned  is  as  well  known  as 
his  envy  of  your  success  ? ” 

Goldsmith  stared  at  him  for  some  mo- 
ments and  then  at  the  hand  which  he  was 
holding-  out.  He  seemed  to  be  making-  an 
effort  to  speak,  but  the  words  never  came. 
Suddenly  he  caught  Captain  Horneck’s 


204  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

hand  in  both  of  his  own,  and  held  it  for  a 
moment;  but  then,  quite  overcome,  he 
dropped  it,  and  burying-  his  face  in  his 
hands  he  burst  into  tears. 

Horneck  watched  him  for  some  time, 
and  was  himself  almost  equally  affected. 

“Come,  come,  old  friend,”  he  said  at 
last,  placing-  his  hand  affectionately  on  Gold- 
smith’s shoulder.  “ Come,  come;  this  will 
not  do.  There  is  nothing-  to  be  so  con- 
cerned about.  What,  man ! are  you  so  little 
aware  of  your  own  position  in  the  world  as 
to  fancy  that  the  Horneck  family  reg-ard 
your  friendship  for  them  otherwise  than  an 
honour  ? Good  heavens.  Dr.  Goldsmith, 
don’t  you  perceive  that  we  are  making- 
a bold  bid  for  immortality  through  our 
names  being-  associated  with  yours  ? Who 
in  a hundred  years  — in  fifty  years  — would 
know  anything-  of  the  Horneck  family  if  it 
were  not  for  their  association  with  you? 
The  name  of  Oliver  Goldsmith  will  live  so 
long-  as  there  is  life  in  Eng-lish  letters,  and 
when  your  name  is  spoken  the  name  of 
your  friends  the  Hornecks  will  not  be  for- 
g-otten.” 

He  tried  to  comfort  his  unhappy  friend, 
but  though  he  remained  at  his  chambers 
for  half  ah  hour,  he  got  no  word  from 
Oliver  Goldsmith. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


The  next  day  the  news  of  the  prompt 
and  vigorous  action  taken  by  Goldsmith  in 
respect  of  the  scurrility  of  Kenrick  had 
spread  round  the  literary  circle  of  which 
Johnson  was  the  centre,  and  the  general 
feeling  was  one  of  regret  that  Kenrick  had 
not  received  the  beating  instead  of  Evans. 
Of  course,  Johnson,  who  had  threatened 
two  writers  with  an  oak  stick,  shook  his 
head  — and  his  body  as  well  — in  grave  dis- 
approval of  Goldsmith’s  use  of  his  cane ; 
but  Reynolds,  Garrick  and  the  two  Burkes 
were  of  the  opinion  that  a cane  had  never 
been  more  appropriately  used. 

What  Colman’s  attitude  was  in  regard 
to  the  man  who  had  put  thousands  of 
pounds  into  his  pocket  may  be  gathered 
from  the  fact  that,  shortly  afterwards,  he 
accepted  and  produced  a play  of  Kenrick’s 
at  his  theatre,  which  was  more  decisively 
damned  than  any  play  ever  produced 
under  Colman’s  management. 

Of  course,  the  act  of  an  author  in  resent- 
ing the  scurrility  of  a man  who  had  de- 

205 


206  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

livered  his  stab  under  the  cloak  of  criti- 
cism, called  for  a howl  of  indignation  from 
the  scores  of  hacks  who  existed  at  that 
period  — some  in  the  pay  of  the  govern- 
ment others  of  the  opposition  — solely  by 
stabbing  men  of  reputation ; for  the  literary 
cut-throat,  in  the  person  of  the  professional 
libeller-critic,  and  the  literary  cut-purse,  in 
the  form  of  the  professional  blackmailer, 
followed  as  well  as  preceded  Junius. 

The  howl  went  up  that  the  liberty  of 
the  press  was  in  danger,  and  the  public, 
who  took  then,  as  they  do  now,  but  the 
most  languid  interest  in  the  quarrels  of 
literature,  were  forced  to  become  the  un- 
willing audience.  When,  however.  Gold- 
smith published  his  letter  in  the  Daily  Ad- 
vertiser  — surely  the  manliest  manifesto 
ever  printed  — the  howls  became  attenu- 
ated, and  shortly  afterwards  died  away.  It 
was  admitted,  even  by  Dr.  Johnson  — and 
so  emphatically,  too,  that  his  biographer 
could  not  avoid  recording  his  judgment  — 
that  Goldsmith  had  increased  his  reputa- 
tion by  the  incident. 

(Boswell  paid  Goldsmith  the  highest 
compliment  in  his  power  on  account  of  this 
letter,  for  he  fancied  that  it  had  been  writ- 
ten by  Johnson,  and  received  another  rebuke 
from  the  latter  to  gloat  over.) 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  207 

For  some  days  Goldsmith  had  many 
visitors  at  his  chambers,  including-  Baretti, 
who  remarked  that  he  took  it  for  granted 
that  he  need  not  now  search  for  the  fenc- 
ing-master, as  his  quarrel  was  over.  Gold- 
smith allowed  him  to  go  away  under  the 
impression  that  he  had  foreseen  the  quar- 
rel when  he  had  consulted  him  regarding 
the  fencing-master. 

But  at  the  end  of  a week,  when  Evans 
had  been  conciliated  by  the  friends  of  his 
assailant.  Goldsmith,  on  returning  to  his 
chambers  one  afternoon,  found  Johnson 
gravely  awaiting  his  arrival.  His  hearty 
welcome  was  not  responded  to  quite  so 
heartil}7^  by  his  visitor. 

“Dr.  Goldsmith,”  said  Johnson,  after 
he  had  made  some  of  those  grotesque  move- 
ments with  which  his  judicial  utterances 
were  invariably  accompanied  — “ Dr.  Gold- 
smith, we  have  been  friends  for  a good 
many  years,  sir.” 

“That  fact  constitutes  one  of  my  pleas- 
antest reflections,  sir,”  said  Goldsmith.  He 
spoke  with  some  measure  of  hesitancy,  for 
he  had  a feeling  that  his  friend  had  come  to 
him  with  a reproof.  He  had  expected  him 
to  come  rather  sooner. 

“ If  our  friendship  was  not  such  as  it  is, , 
I would  not  have  come  to  you  to-day,  sir,  to 


208  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

tell  you  that  you  have  been  a fool,”  said 
Johnson. 

“Yes,  sir,”  said  Goldsmith,  “you  were 
rig-ht  in  assuming  that  you  could  say  noth- 
ing to  me  that  would  offend  me;  I know 
that  I have  been  a fool  — at  many  times  — 
in  many  ways.” 

“ I suspected  that  you  were  a fool  before 
I set  out  to  come  hither,  sir,  and  since  I 
entered  this  room  I have  convinced  myself 
of  the  accuracy  of  my  suspicion.” 

“If  a man  suspects  that  I am  a fool 
before  seeing  me,  sir,  what  will  he  do  after 
having  seen  me?  ” said  Goldsmith. 

“ Dr.  Goldsmith,”  resumed  Johnson,  “it 
was,  believe  me,  sir,  a great  pain  to  me  to 
find,  as  I did  in  this  room  — on  that  desk  — 
such  evidence  of  your  folly  as  left  no  doubt 
on  my  mind  in  this  matter.” 

“What  do  you  mean,  sir?  My  folly  — 
evidence  — on  that  desk?  Ah,  I know  now 
what  you  mean.  Yes,  poor  Filby’s  bill  for 
my  last  coats  and  I suppose  for  a few  others 
that  have  long  ago  been  worn  threadbare. 
Alas,  sir,  who  could  resist  Filby’s  flat- 
teries? ” 

“Sir,”  said  Johnson,  “you  gave  me  per- 
mission several  years  ago  to  read  any  man- 
uscript of  yours  in  prose  or  verse  at  which 
you  were  engaged.” 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  209 

“And  the  result  of  your  so  honouring- 
me,  Dr.  Johnson,  has  invariably  been  ad- 
vantag-eous  to  my  work.  What,  sir,  have  I 
ever  failed  in  respect  for  your  criticisms? 
Have  I ever  failed  to  make  a chang-e  that 
you  sug-g-ested?  ” 

“It  was  in  consideration  of  that  permis- 
sion, Dr.  Goldsmith,  that  while  waiting-  for 
you  here  to-day,  I read  several  pages  in 
your  handwriting,”  said  Johnson  sternly. 

Goldsmith  glanced  at  his  desk. 

“ I forget  now  what  work  was  last  under 
my  hand,”  said  he;  “ but  whatever  it  was, 
sir ” 

“I  have  it  here,  sir,”  said  Johnson,  and 
Goldsmith  for  the  first  time  noticed  that  he 
held  in  one  of  his  hands  a roll  of  manuscript. 
Johnson  laid  it  solemnly  on  the  table,  and  in 
a moment  Goldsmith  perceived  that  it  con- 
sisted of  a number  of  the  poems  which  he 
had  written  to  the  Jessamy  Bride,  but  which 
he  had  not  dared  to  send  to  her.  He  had 
had  them  before  him  on  the  desk  that  day 
while  he  asked  himself  what  would  be  the 
result  of  sending  them  to  her. 

He  was  considerably  disturbed  when  he 
discovered  what  it  was  that  his  friend  had 
been  reading  in  his  absence,  and  his  attempt 
to  treat  the  matter  lightly  only  made  his 
confusion  appear  the  greater. 


210  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“Oh,  those  verses,  sir,”  he  stammered; 
“they  are  poor  things.  You  will,  I fear, 
find  them  too  obviously  defective  to  merit 
criticism;  they  resemble  my  oldest  coat,  sir, 
which  I designed  to  have  repaired  for  my 
man,  but  Filby  returned  it  with  the  remark 
that  it  was  not  worth  the  cost  of  repairing. 
If  you  were  to  become  a critic  of  those 
trifles ” 

“They  are  trifles.  Goldsmith,  for  they 
represent  the  trifling  of  a man  of  determi- 
nation with  his  own  future  — with  his  ovm 
happiness  and  the  happiness  of  others.” 

“I  protest,  sir,  I scarcely  under- 
stand   ” 

“Your  confusion,  sir,  shows  that  you 
do  understand.” 

“Nay,  sir,  you  do  not  suppose  that  the 
lines  which  a poet  writes  in  the  character  of 
a lover  should  be  accepted  as  damning  evi- 
dence that  his  own  heart  speaks.” 

“Goldsmith,  I am  not  the  man  to  be 
deceived  by  any  literary  work  that  may 
come  under  my  notice.  I have  read  those 
verses  of  yours ; sir,  your  heart  throbs  in 
every  line.” 

“Nay,  sir,  you  would  make  me  believe 
that  my  poor  attempts  to  realise  the  feelings 
of  one  who  has  experienced  the  tender  pas- 
sion are  more  happy  than  I fancied,” 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  211 

“Sir,  this  dissimulation  is  unworthy  of 
you.” 

“Sir,  I protest  that  I — that  is  — no,  I 
shall  protest  nothing*.  You  have  spoken 
the  truth, sir;  any  dissimulation  is  unworthy 
of  me.  I wrote  those  verses  out  of  my 
own  heart  — God  knows  if  they  are  the  first 
that  came  from  my  heart  — I own  it,  sir. 
Why  should  I be  ashamed  to  own  it?” 

“My  poor  friend,  you  have  been  For- 
tune’s plaything*  all  your  life ; but  I did  not 
think  that  she  was  reserving*  such  a blow  as 
this  for  you.” 

“A  blow,  sir?  Nay,  I cannot  regard  as  a 
blow  that  which  has  been  the  sweetest  — 
the  only  consolation  of  a life  that  has  known 
but  few  consolations.” 

“Sir,  this  will  not  do.  A man  has  the 
right  to  make  himself  as  miserable  as  he 
pleases,  but  he  has  no  right  to  make  others 
miserable.  Dr.  Goldsmith,  you  have  ill- 
repaid  the  friendship  which  Miss  Horneck 
and  her  family  have  extended  to  you.” 

“I  have  done  nothing  for  which  my  con- 
science reproaches  me.  Dr.  Johnson.  What, 
sir,  if  I have  ventured  to  love  that  lady 
whose  name  had  better  remain  unspoken 
by  either  of  us  — what  if  I do  love  her? 
Where  is  the  indignity  that  I do  either 
to  her  or  to  the  sentiment  of  friendship? 


212  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

Does  one  offer  an  indignity  to  friendship  by 
loving?” 

“ My  poor  friend,  you  are  laying  up  a 
future  of  misery  for  yourself — yes,  and  for 
her  too;  for  she  has  a kind  heart,  and  if  she 
should  come  to  know  — and,  indeed,  I think 
she  must — that  she  has  been  the  cause,  even 
though  the  unwilling  cause,  of  suffering  on 
the  part  of  another,  she  will  not  be  free 
from  unhappiness.” 

“ She  need  not  know,  she  need  not  know. 
I have  been  a bearer  of  burdens  all  my  life. 
I will  assume  without  repining  this  new 
burden.” 

“Nay,  sir,  if  I know  your  character  — 
and  I believe  I have  known  it  for  some  years 
— you  will  cast  that  burden  away  from  you. 
Life,  my  dear  friend,  you  and  I have  found 
to  be  not  a meadow  wherein  to  sport,  but  a 
battle  field.  We  have  been  in  the  struggle, 
you  and  I,  and  we  have  not  come  out  of  it 
unscathed.  Come,  sir,  face  boldly  this  new 
enemy,  and  put  it  to  flight  before  it  prove 
your  ruin.” 

“Enemy,  you  call  it,  sir?  You  call  that 
which  gives  everything  there  is  of  beauty 
— everything  there  is  of  sweetness  — in 
the  life  of  man  — you  call  it  our  enemy?” 

“I  call  xiyour  enemy.  Goldsmith.” 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  213 

“ Why  mine  only  ? What  is  there  about 
me  that  makes  me  different  from  other 
men?  Why  should  a poet  be  looked  upon 
as  one  who  is  shut  out  for  evermore  from 
all  the  tenderness,  all  the  grace  of  life, 
when  he  has  proved  to  the  world  that  he 
is  most  capable  of  all  mankind  of  appreciat- 
ing tenderness  and  grace?  What  trick  of 
nature  is  this?  What  paradox  for  men  to 
vex  their  souls  over  ? Is  the  poet  to  stand 
aloof  from  men,  evermore  looking  on  hap- 
piness through  another  man’s  eyes?  If 
you  answer  ‘ yes,’  then  I say  that  men  who 
are  not  poets  should  go  down  on  their  knees 
and  thank  Heaven  that  they  are  not  poets. 
Happy  it  is  for  mankind  that  Heaven  has 
laid  on  few  men  the  curse  of  being  poets. 
For  myself,  I feel  that  I would  rather  be  a 
man  for  an  hour  than  a poet  for  all  time.” 

“ Come,  sir,  let  us  not  waste  our  time 
railing  against  Heaven.  Let  us  look  at  this 
matter  as  it  stands  at  present.  You  have 
been  unfortunate  enough  to  conceive  a pas- 
sion for  a lady  whose  family  could  never  be 
brought  to  think  of  you  seriously  as  a lover. 
You  have  been  foolish  enough  to  regard 
their  kindness  to  you  — their  acceptance  of 
you  as  a friend  — as  encouragement  in  your 
mad  aspirations.” 


214  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“You  have  no  right  to  speak  so  author- 
itatively, sir.” 

“ I have  the  right  as  your  oldest  friend, 
Goldsmith;  and  you  know  I speak  only  what 
is  true.  Does  your  own  conscience,  your 
own  intelligence,  sir,  not  tell  you  that  the 
lady’s  family  would  regard  her  acceptance 
of  you  as  a lover  in  the  light  of  the  greatest 
misfortune  possible  to  happen  to  her? 
Answer  me  that  question,  sir.” 

But  Goldsmith  made  no  attempt  to 
speak.  He  only  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands,  resting  his  elbows  on  the  table  at 
which  he  sat. 

“ You  cannot  deny  what  you  know  to  be 
a fact,  sir,”  resumed  Johnson.  “I  will  not 
humiliate  you  by  suggesting  that  the  young 
lady  herself  would  only  be  moved  to  laugh- 
ter were  you  to  make  serious  advances  to 
her  ; but  I ask  you  if  you  think  her  family 
would  not  regard  such  an  attitude  on  your 
side  as  ridiculous — nay,  worse — a gross 
affront.” 

Still  Goldsmith  remained  silent,  and 
after  a short  pause  his  visitor  resumed  his 
discourse. 

“The  question  that  remains  for  you  to 
answer  is  this,  sir : Are  you  desirous  of 

humiliating  yourself  in  the  eyes  of  your 
best  friends,  and  of  forfeiting  their  friend- 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  215 

ship  for  you,  by  persisting*  in  your  infatua- 
tion?” 

Goldsmith  started  up. 

“Say  no  more,  sir;  for  God’s  sake,  say 
no  more,”  he  cried  almost  piteously.  “ Am 
I,  do  you  fancy,  as  g*reat  a fool  as  Pope,  who 
did  not  hesitate  to  declare  himself  to  Lady 
Mary?  Sir,  I have  done  nothing  that  the 
most  honourable  of  men  would  shrink  from 
doing.  There  are  the  verses  which  I wrote 
— I could  not  help  writing*  them — but  she 
does  not  know  that  they  were  ever  written. 
Dr.  Johnson,  she  shall  never  hear  it  from 
me.  My  history,  sir,  shall  be  that  of  the 
hopeless  lover — a blank — a blank.” 

“My  poor  friend,”  said  Johnson  after  a 
pause— he  had  laid  his  hand  upon  the  shoul- 
der of  his  friend  as  he  seated  himself  once 
more  at  the  table — “ My  poor  friend.  Provi- 
dence puts  into  our  hands  many  cups  which 
are  bitter  to  the  taste,  but  cannot  be  turned 
away  from.  You  and  I have  drank  of  bitter 
cups  before  now,  and  perhaps  we  may  have 
to  drink  of  others  before  we  die.  To  be  a 
man  is  to  suffer;  to  be  a poet  means  to  have 
double  the  capacity  of  men  to  suffer.  You 
have  shown  yourself  before  now  worthy  of 
the  admiration  of  all  good  men  by  the  way 
you  have  faced  life,  by  your  independence 
of  the  patronage  of  the  great.  You  dedi- 


216  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

cated  ‘ The  Traveller  ’ to  your  brother,  and 
your  last  comedy  to  me.  You  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  turn  away  from  your  door  the  man 
who  came  to  offer  you  money  for  the  prosti- 
tution of  the  talents  which  God  has  given 
you.  Dr.  Goldsmith,  you  have  my  respect 
— you  have  the  respect  of  every  good  man. 
I came  to  you  to-day  that  you  may  dis- 
appoint those  of  your  detractors  who  are 
waiting  for  you  to  be  guilty  of  an  act  that 
would  give  them  an  opportunity  of  pointing 
a finger  of  malice  at  you.  You  will  not 
do  anything  but  that  which  will  reflect 
honour  upon  yourself,  and  show  all  those 
who  are  your  friends  that  their  friendship 
for  you  is  well  founded.  I am  assured 
that  I can  trust  you,  sir.” 

Goldsmith  took  the  hand  that  he  offered, 
but  said  no  word. 


CHAPTER  XiX. 

When  his  visitor  had  g-one  Goldsmith 
seated  himself  in  his  chair  and  gave  way  to 
the  bitter  reflections  of  the  hour. 

He  knew  that  the  end  of  his  dream  had 
come.  The  straightforward  words  which 
Johnson  had  spoken  had  put  an  end  to  his 
self-deception  — to  his  hoping  against  his 
better  judgment  that  by  some  miracle  his 
devotion  might  be  rewarded.  If  any  man 
was  calculated  to  be  a disperser  of  vain 
dreams  that  man  was  Johnson.  In  the  very 
brutality  of  his  straightforwardness  there 
was,  however,  a suspicion  of  kindliness  that 
made  any  appeal  from  his  judgment  hope- 
less. There  was  no  timidity  in  the  utter- 
ances of  his  phrases  when  forcing  his  con- 
tentions upon  any  audience;  but  Goldsmith 
knew  that  he  only  spoke  strongly  because 
he  felt  strongly. 

Times  without  number  he  had  said  to 
himself  precisely  what  Dr.  Johnson  had 
said  to  him.  If  Mary  Horneck  herself  ever 
went  so  far  as  to  mistake  the  sympathy 
which  she  had  for  him  for  that  affection 

217 


218  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

which  alone  would  content  him,  how  could 
he  approach  her  family?  Her  sister  had 
married  Bunbury,  a man  of  position  and 
wealth,  with  a country  house  and  a town 
house  — a man  of  her  own  age,  and  with  the 
possibility  of  inheriting  his  father’s  baron- 
etcy. Her  brother  was  about  to  marry  a 
daughter  of  Lord  Albemarle’s.  What 
would  these  people  say  if  he,  Oliver  Gold- 
smith, were  to  present  himself  as  a suitor 
for  the  hand  of  Mary  Horneck? 

It  did  not  require  Dr.  Johnson  to  speak 
such  forcible  words  in  his  hearing  to  enable 
him  to  perceive  how  ridiculous  were  his 
pretensions.  The  tragedy  of  the  poet’s 
life  among  men  and  women  eager  to  better 
their  prospects  in  the  world  was  fully 
appreciated  by  him.  It  was  surely,  he  felt, 
the  most  cruel  of  all  the  cruelties  of  des- 
tiny, that  the  men  who  make  music  of  the 
passions  of  men  — who  have  surrounded 
the  passion  of  love  with  a glorifying  halo  — 
should  be  doomed  to  spend  their  lives  look- 
ing on  at  the  success  of  ordinary  men  in 
their  loves  by  the  aid  of  the  music  which 
the  poets  have  created.  That  is  the  poet’s 
tragedy  of  life,  and  Goldsmith  had  often 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  it,  feeling 
himself  to  be  one  of  those  with  whom  des- 
tiny is  only  on  jesting  terms. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  219 

Because  he  was  a poet  he  could  not  love 
any  less  beautiful  creature  than  Mary  Hor- 
neck,  any  less  gracious,  less  sweet,  less 
pure,  and  yet  he  knew  that  if  he  were  to  go 
to  her  with  those  poems  in  his  hand  which 
he  only  of  all  living  men  could  write,  telling 
her  that  they  might  plead  his  cause,  he 
would  be  regarded  — and  rightly,  too  — as 
both  presumptuous  and  ridiculous. 

He  thought  of  the  loneliness  of  his  life. 
Was  it  the  lot  of  the  man  of  letters  to 
remain  in  loneliness  while  the  people 
around  him  were  taking  to  themselves 
wives  and  begetting  sons  and  daughters? 
Had  he  nothing  to  look  forward  to  but  the 
laurel  wreath?  Was  it  taken  for  granted 
that  a contemplation  of  its  shrivelling 
leaves  would  more  than  compensate  the 
poet  for  the  loss  of  home  — the  grateful 
companionship  of  a wife  — the  babble  of 
children  — all  that  his  fellow-men  asso- 
ciated with  the  gladness  and  glory  of  life? 

He  knew  that  he  had  reached  a position 
in  the  world  of  letters  that  was  surpassed 
by  no  living  man  in  England.  He  had  often 
dreamed  of  reaching  such  a place,  and  to 
reach  it  he  had  undergone  privation  — he 
had  sacrificed  the  best  years  of  his  life. 
And  what  did  his  consciousness  of  having 
attained  his  end  bring  with  it?  It  brought 


220  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

to  him  the  snarl  of  envy,  the  howl  of  hatred, 
the  mock  of  malice.  The  air  was  full  of 
these  sounds;  they  dinned  in  his  ears  and 
overcame  the  sounds  of  the  approval  of  his 
friends. 

And  it  was  for  this  he  had  sacrificed  so 
much?  So  much?  Everything*.  He  had 
sacrificed  his  life.  The  one  joy  that  had 
consoled  him  for  all  his  ills  during  the  past 
few  years  had  departed  from  him.  He 
would  never  see  Mary  Horneck  again.  To 
see  her  again  would  only  be  to  increase  the 
burden  of  his  humiliation.  His  resolution 
was  formed  and  he  would  abide  by  it. 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  picked  up  the 
roll  of  poems.  In  sign  of  his  resolution  he 
would  burn  them.  He  would,  with  them, 
reduce  to  ashes  the  one  consolation  of  his 
life. 

In  the  small  grate  the  remains  of  a fire 
were  still  glowing.  He  knelt  down  and 
blew  the  spark  into  a blaze.  He  was  about 
to  thrust  the  manuscript  into  it  between 
the  bars  when  the  light  that  it  made  fell 
upon  one  of  the  lines.  He  had  not  the 
heart  to  burn  the  leaf  until  he  had  read  the 
remaining  lines  of  the  couplet ; and  when 
at  last,  with  a sigh,  he  hastily  thrust  the 
roll  of  papers  between  the  bars,  the  little 
blaze  had  fallen  again  to  a mere  smoulder- 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  221 

ing  spark.  Before  he  could  raise  it  by  a 
breath  or  two,  his  servant  entered  the 
room.  He  started  to  his  feet. 

“A  letter  for  you,  sir,”  said  John  Eyles. 
“It  came  by  a messenger  lad.” 

“ Fetch  a candle,  John,”  said  Goldsmith, 
taking  the  letter.  It  was  too  dark  for  him 
to  see  the  handwriting,  but  he  put  the  tip 
of  his  finger  on  the  seal  and  became  aware 
that  it  was  Mary  Horneck’s. 

By  the  light  of  the  candle  he  broke  the 
seal,  and  read  the  few  lines  that  the  letter 
contained  — 

Come  to  me,  my  dear  friend,  without  delay, 
for  heaven’s  sake.  Your  ear  only  can  hear  what 
I have  to  tell.  You  may  be  able  to  help  me,  but 
if  not,  then  . . . Oh,  come  to  me  to-night. 

Your  unhappy  Jessamy  Bride. 

He  did  not  delay  an  instant.  He  caught 
up  his  hat  and  left  his  chambers.  He  did 
not  even  think  of  the  resolution  to  which  he 
had  just  come,  never  to  see  Mary  Horneck 
again.  All  his  thoughts  were  lost  in  the 
one  thought  that  he  was  about  to  stand  face 
to  face  with  her. 

He  stood  face  to  face  with  her  in  less 
than  half  an  hour.  She  was  in  the  small 
drawing-room  where  he  had  seen  her  on 
the  day  after  the  production  of  “She  Stoops 
to  Conquer.”  Only  a few  wax  candles 


222  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

were  lighted  in  the  cut-glass  sconces  that 
were  placed  in  the  centre  of  the  panels 
of  the  walls.  Their  light  was,  however, 
sufficient  to  make  visible  the  contrast  be- 
tween the  laughing  face  of  the  girl  in  Rey- 
nolds’s picture  of  her  and  her  sister  which 
hung  on  the  wall,  and  the  sad  face  of  the 
girl  who  put  her  hand  into  his  as  he  was 
shown  in  by  the  servant. 

‘1  knew  you  would  come,”  she  said. 
“ I knew  that  I could  trust  you.” 

“You  may  trust  me,  indeed,”  he  said. 
He  held  her  hand  in  his  own,  looking  into 
her  pale  face  and  sunken  eyes.  “I  knew 
the  time  would  come  when  you  would  tell 
me  all  that  there  is  to  be  told,”  he  contin- 
ued. “ Whether  I can  help  you  or  not,  you 
will  find  yourself  better  for  having  told 
me.” 

She  seated  herself  on  the  sofa,  and  he 
took  his  place  beside  her.  There  was  a 
silence  of  a minute  or  two,  before  she  sud- 
denly started  up,  and,  after  walking  up  and 
down  the  room  nervously,  stopped  at  the 
mantelpiece,  leaning  her  head  against  the 
high  slab,  and  looking  into  the  smoulder- 
ing fire  in  the  grate. 

He  watched  her,  but  did  not  attempt  to 
express  the  pity  that  filled  his  heart. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  223 

“What  am  I to  tell  you — what  am  I to 
tell  you?”  she  cried  at  last,  resuming-  her 
pacing-  of  the  floor. 

He  made  no  reply,  but  sat  there  follow- 
ing her  movements  with  his  eyes.  She 
went  beside  him,  and  stood,  with  nervously 
clasped  hands,  looking  with  vacant  eyes  at 
the  group  of  wax  candles  that  burned  in 
one  of  the  sconces.  Once  again  she  turned 
away  with  a little  cry,  but  then  with  a great 
effort  she  controlled  herself,  and  her  voice 
was  almost  tranquil  when  she  spoke,  seat- 
ing herself. 

“You  were  with  me  at  the  Pantheon, 
and  saw  me  when  I caught  sight  of  that 
man,”  she  said.  “ You  alone  were  observ- 
ant. Did  you  also  see  him  call  me  to  his 
side  in  the  green  room  at  the  playhouse  ? ” 

“I  saw  you  in  the  act  of  speaking  to  him 
there  — he  calls  himself  Jackson  — Captain 
Jackson,”  said  Goldsmith. 

“You  saved  me  from  him  once!”  she 
cried.  “ You  saved  me  from  becoming  his 
— body  and  soul.” 

“No,”  he  said;  “I  have  not  yet  saved 
you,  but  God  is  good  ; He  may  enable  me  to 
do  so.” 

“I  tell  you  if  it  had  not  been  for  you — 
for  the  book  which  you  wrote,  I should  be 
to-day  a miserable  castaway.” 


224  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

He  looked  puzzled. 

“I  cannot  quite  understand,’’  said  he. 
“ I g*ave  you  a copy  of  ‘ The  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field ’ when  you  were  going*  to  Devonshire  a 
year  ago.  You  were  complaining*  that  your 
sister  had  taken  away  with  her  the  copy 
which  I had  presented  to  your  mother,  so 
that  you  had  not  an  opportunity  of  reading 
it.” 

“It  was  that  which  saved  me,”  she 
cried.  “ Oh,  what  fools  girls  are  I They 
are  carried  away  by  such  devices  as  should 
not  impose  upon  the  merest  child  ! Why 
are  we  not  taug*ht  from  our  childhood  of 
the  baseness  of  men  — some  men  — so  that 
we  can  be  on  our  g*uard  when  we  are  on 
the  verge  of  womanhood?  If  we  are  to 
live  in  the  world  why  should  we  not  be  told 
all  that  we  should  guard  against  ? ” 

She  laid  her  head  down  on  the  arm  of 
the  sofa,  sobbing. 

He  put  his  hand  gently  upon  her  hair, 
saying*  — 

“I  cannot  believe  anything*  but  what  is 
g*ood  regarding*  you,  my  sweet  Jessamy 
Bride.” 

She  raised  her  head  quickly  and  looked 
at  him  through  her  tears. 

“ Then  you  will  err,”  she  said.  “You 
will  have  to  think  ill  of  me.  Thank  God 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  225 

you  saved  me  from  the  worst,  but  it  was  not 
in  your  power  to  save  me  from  all — to  save 
me  from  myself.  Listen  to  me,  my  best 
friend.  When  I was  in  Devonshire  last 
year  I met  that  man.  He  was  staying*  in 
the  villag*e,  pretending*  that  he  was  recov- 
ering* from  a wound  which  he  had  received 
in  our  colonies  in  America.  He  was  looked 
on  as  a hero  and  fdted  in  all  directions. 
Every  g*irl  for  miles  around  was  in  love 
with  him,  and  I — innocent  fool  that  I was 
— considered  myself  the  most  favoured 
creature  in  the  world  because  he  made  love 
to  me.  Any  day  we  failed  to  meet  I wrote 
him  a letter  — a foolish  letter  such  as  a 
school  miss  might  write  — full  of  protesta- 
tions of  undying  affection.  I sometimes 
wrote  two  of  these  letters  in  the  day. 
More  than  a month  passed  in  this  foolish- 
ness, and  then  it  came  to  my  uncle’s  ears 
that  we  had  meetings.  He  forbade  my 
continuing  to  see  a man  of  whom  no  one 
knew  anything  definite,  but  about  whom  he 
was  having  strict  inquiries  made.  I wrote 
to  the  man  to  this  effect,  and  I received  a 
reply  persuading  me  to  have  one  more 
meeting  with  him.  I was  so  infatuated 
that  I met  him  secretly,  and  then  in  im- 
passioned strains  he  implored  me  to  make 
a runaway  match  with  him.  He  said  he 


226  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

had  enemies.  When  he  had  been  fighting 
the  King’s  battles  against  the  rebels  these 
enemies  had  been  active,  and  he  feared 
that  their  malice  would  come  between  us, 
and  he  should  lose  me.  I was  so  carried 
away  by  his  pleading  that  I consented  to 
leave  my  uncle’s  house  by  his  side.” 

“ But  you  cannot  have  done  so.” 

“You  saved  me,”  she  cried.  “I  had 
been  reading  your  book,  and,  by  God’s 
mercy,  on  the  very  day  before  that  on 
which  I had  promised  to  go  to  him  I came 
to  the  story  of  poor  Olivia’s  flight  and  its 
consequences.  With  the  suddenness  of  a 
revelation  from  heaven  I perceived  the 
truth.  The  scales  fell  from  my  eyes  as 
thfey  fell  from  St.  Paul’s  on  the  way  to 
Damascus,  only  where  he  perceived  the 
heaven  I saw  the  hell  that  awaited  me.  I 
knew  that  that  man  was  endeavouring  to 
encompass  my  ruin,  and  in  a single  hour 
— thanks  to  the  genius  that  wrote  that 
book  — my  love  for  that  man^  or  what  I 
fancied  was  love,  was  turned  to  loathing.  I 
did  not  meet  him.  I returned  to  him,  with- 
out a word  of  comment,  a letter  he  wrote  to 
me  reproaching  me  for  disappointing  him  ; 
and  the  very  next  day  my  uncle’s  suspi- 
cions regarding  him  were  confirmed.  His 
inquiries  resulted  in  proof  positive  of  the 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  227 

ruffianism  of  the  fellow  who  called  himself 
Captain  Jackson,  He  had  left  the  army  in 
America  with  a stain  on  his  character,  and 
it  was  known  that  since  his  return  to  Eng- 
land at  least  two  young  women  had  been 
led  into  the  trap  which  he  laid  for  me.” 

“Thank  God  you  were  saved,  my  child,” 
said  Goldsmith,  as  she  paused,  overcome 
with  emotion.  “ But  being  saved,  my  dear, 
you  have  no  further  reason  to  fear  that 
man.” 

“That  was  my  belief,  too,”  said  she. 
“But  alas!  it  was  a delusion.  So  soon  as 
he  found  out  that  I had  escaped  from  him, 
he  showed  himself  in  his  true  colours.  He 
wrote  threatening  to  send  the  letters  which 
I had  been  foolish  enough  to  write  to  him, 
to  my  friends  — he  was  even  scoundrel 
enough  to  point  out  that  I had  in  my  inno- 
cence written  certain  passages  which  were 
susceptible  of  being  interpreted  as  evidence 
of  guilt — nay,  his  letter  in  which  he  did  so 
took  it  for  granted  that  I had  been  guilty, 
so  that  I could  not  show  it  as  evidence  of 
his  falsehood.  What  was  left  for  me  to  do? 
I wrote  to  him  imploring  him  to  return  to 
me  those  letters.  I asked  him  how  he  could 
think  it  consistent  with  his  honour  to  retain 
them  and  to  hold  such  an  infamous  threat 
over  my  head.  Alas ! he  soon  gave  me  to 


228  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

understand  that  I had  but  placed  myself 
more  deeply  in  his  power.” 

“The  scoundrel!” 

“ Oh ! scoundrel ! I made  an  excuse  for 
coming*  back  to  London,  thoug*h  I had  meant 
to  stay  in  Devonshire  until  the  end  of  the 
year.” 

“And  ’twas  then  you  thanked  me  for 
the  book.” 

“ I had  g*ood  reason  to  do  so.  For  some 
months  I was  happy,  believing*  that  I had 
escaped  from  my  persecutor.  How  happy 
we  were  when  in  France  tog*ether!  But 
then — ah ! you  know  the  rest.  My  distress 
is  killing*  me — I cannot  sleep  at  nig*ht.  I 
start  a dozen  times  a day ; every  time  the 
bell  ring*s  I am  in  trepidation.” 

“ Great  Heaven  ! Is ’t  possible  that  you 
are  miserable  solely  on  this  account?”  cried 
Goldsmith. 

“Is  there  not  sufficient  reason  for  my 
misery?  ” she  asked.  ‘ ‘ What  did  he  say  to  me 
that  night  in  the  green  room?  He  told  me 
that  he  would  give  me  a fortnight  to  accede 
to  his  demands ; if  I failed  he  swore  to  print 
my  letters  in  full,  introducing  my  name  so 
that  every  one  should  know  who  had  written 
them.” 

“And  his  terms?”  asked  Goldsmith  in  a 
whisper. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  229 

“His  terms?  I cannot  tell  you — I can- 
not tell  you.  The  very  thoug-ht  that  I placed 
myself  in  such  a position  as  made  it  possible 
for  me  to  have  such  an  insult  offered  to  me 
makes  me  long  for  death.” 

“By  God  ! ’tis  he  who  need  to  prepare 
for  death!”  cried  Goldsmith,  “for  I shall 
kiU  him,  even  though  the  act  be  called 
murder.” 

“No — no!”  she  said,  laying  a hand  upon 
his  arm.  “No  friend  of  mine  must  suffer 
for  my  folly.  I dare  not  speak  a word  of 
this  to  my  brother  for  fear  of  the  conse- 
quences. That  wretch  boasted  to  me  of 
having  laid  his  plans  so  carefully  that,  if 
any  harm  were  to  come  to  him,  the  letters 
would  still  be  printed.  He  said  he  had 
heard  of  my  friends,  and  declared  that  if  he 
were  approached  by  any  of  them  nothing 
should  save  me  from  being  made  the  talk 
of  the  town.  I was  terrified  by  the  threat, 
but  I determined  to-day  to  tell  you  my  piti- 
ful story  in  the  hope — the  forlorn  hope — 
that  you  might  be  able  to  help  me.  Tell 
me — tell  me,  my  dear  friend,  if  you  can  see 
any  chance  of  escape  for  me  except  that  of 
which  poor  Olivia  sang : ‘ The  only  way 

her  guilt  to  cover.’  ” 

“Guilt?  Who  talks  of  guilt?”  said  he. 
“ Oh,  my  poor  innocent  child,  I knew  that 


230  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

whatever  your  g*rief  might  be  there  was 
nothing  to  be  thought  of  you  except  what 
was  good.  I am  not  one  to  say  even  that 
you  acted  foolishly;  you  only  acted  inno- 
cently. You,  in  the  guilelessness  of  your 
own  pure  heart  could  not  believe  that  a man 
could  be  worse  than  any  monster.  Dear 
child,  I pray  of  you  to  bear  up  for  a short 
time  against  this  stroke  of  fate,  and  I prom- 
ise you  that  I shall  discover  away  of  escape 
for  you.” 

“Ah,  it  IS  easy  to  say  those  words  ‘ bear 
up.’  I have  said  them  to  myself  a score  of 
times  within  the  week.  You  cannot  now 
perceive  in  what  direction  lies  my  hope  of 
escape?” 

He  shook  his  head,  but  not  without  a 
smile  on  his  face,  as  he  said  — 

“ ’ Tis  easy  enough  for  one  who  has  com- 
posed so  much  fiction  as  I have  to  invent  a 
plan  for  the  rescue  of  a tortured  heroine ; 
but,  unhappily,  it  is  the  case  that  in  real  life 
one  cannot  control  circumstances  as  one 
can  in  a work  of  the  imagination.  That  is 
one  of  the  weaknesses  of  real  life,  my  dear; 
things  will  go  on  happening  in  defiance  of 
all  the  arts  of  fiction.  But  of  this  I feel 
certain:  Providence  does  not  do  things  by 
halves.  He  will  not  make  me  the  means  of 
averting  a great  disaster  from  you  and  then 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  231 

permit  me  to  stand  idly  by  while  you  suffer 
such  a calamity  as  that  which  you  apprehend 
just  now.  Nay,  my  dear,  I feel  that  as 
Heaven  directed  my  pen  to  write  that  book 
in  order  that  you  might  be  saved  from  the 
fate  of  my  poor  Livy,  I shall  be  permitted 
to  help  you  out  of  your  present  difl&culty.” 

“You  give  me  hope,”  she  said.  “Yes — 
a little  hope.  But  you  must  promise  me 
that  you  will  not  be  tempted  to  do  anything 
that  is  rash.  I know  how  brave  you  are  — 
my  brother  told  me  what  prompt  action  you 
took  yesterday  when  that  vile  slander  ap- 
peared. But  were  you  not  foolish  to  place 
yourself  in  jeopardy?  To  strike  at  a ser- 
pent that  hisses  may  only  cause  it  to 
spring.” 

“ I feel  now  that  I was  foolish,”  said  he 
humbly;  “I  ran  the  chance  of  forfeiting 
your  friendship.” 

“ Oh,  no,  it  was  not  so  bad  as  that,”  she 
said.  “Butin  this  matter  of  mine  I per- 
ceive clearly  that  craft  and  not  bravery  will 
prevail  to  save  me,  if  I am  to  be  saved.  I 
saw  that  you  provoked  a quarrel  with  that 
man  on  the  night  when  we  were  leaving  the 
Pantheon;  think  of  it,  think  what  my  feel- 
ings would  have  been  if  he  had  killed  you ! 
And  think  also  that  if  you  had  killed  him  I 
should  certainly  be  lost,  for  he  had  made 


232  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

his  arrang-ements  to  print  the  letters  by 
which  I should  be  judged.” 

“ You  have  spoken  truly,”  said  he.  “You 
are  wiser  than  I have  ever  been.  But  for 
your  sake,  my  sweet  Jessamy  Bride,  I prom- 
ise to  do  nothing  that  shall  jeopardise  your 
safety.  Have  no  fear,  dear  one,  you  shall 
be  saved,  whatever  may  happen.” 

He  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it  fondly. 
“You  shall  be  saved,”  he  repeated. 

“If  not ” said  she  in  a low  tone, 

looking  beyond  him. 

“ No — no,”  he  whispered.  “I  have  given 
you  my  promise.  You  must  give  me  yours. 
You  will  do  nothing  impious.” 

She  gave  a wan  smile. 

“I  am  a girl,”  she  said.  “My  courage 
is  as  water.  I promise  you  I will  trust  you, 
with  all  my  heart  — all  my  heart.” 

“ I shall  not  fail  you  — Heaven  shall  not 
fail  you,”  said  he,  going  to  the  door. 

He  looked  back  at  her.  What  a lovely 
picture  she  made,  standing  in  her  white 
loose  gown  with  its  lace  collar  that  seemed 
to  make  her  face  the  more  pallid ! 

He  bowed  at  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


He  went  for  supper  to  a tavern  which 
he  knew  would  be  visited  by  none  of  his 
friends.  He  had  no  wish  to  share  in  the 
drolleries  of  Garrick  as  the  latter  turned 
Boswell  into  ridicule  to  make  sport  for  the 
company.  He  knew  that  Garrick  would  be 
at  the  club  in  Gerrard  street,  to  which  he 
had  been  elected  only  a few  days  before  the 
production  of  “She  Stoops  to  Conquer,” 
and  it  was  not  at  all  unlikely  that  on  this 
account  the  club  would  be  a g*ood  deal  live- 
lier than  it  usually  was  even  when  Richard 
Burke  was  wittiest. 

While  awaiting-  the  modest  fare  which 
he  had  ordered  he  picked  up  one  of  the 
papers  published  that  evening-,  and  found 
that  it  contained  a fierce  assault  upon  him 
for  having-  dared  to  take  the  law  into  his 
own  hands  in  attempting-  to  punish  the 
scoundrel  who  had  introduced  the  name  of 
Miss  Horneck  into  his  libel  upon  the  author 
of  the  comedy  about  which  all  the  town 
were  talking-. 


233 


234  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

The  scurrility  of  his  new  assailant  pro- 
duced no  impression  upon  him.  He  smiled 
as  he  read  the  ung-rammatical  expression  of 
the  indig*nation  which  the  writer  purported 
to  feel  at  so  gross  an  infringement  of  the 
liberty  of  the  press  as  that  of  which  — 
according  to  the  writer  — the  ingenious  Dr. 
Goldsmith  was  guilty.  He  did  not  even 
fling  the  paper  across  the  room.  He  was 
not  dwelling  upon  his  own  grievances.  In 
his  mind,  the  worst  that  could  happen  to 
him  was  not  worth  a moment’s  thought 
compared  with  the  position  of  the  girl 
whose  presence  he  had  just  left. 

He  knew  perfectly  well  — had  he  not 
good  reason  to  know?  — that  the  man  who 
had  threatened  her  would  keep  his  threat. 
He  knew  of  the  gross  nature  of  the  libels 
which  were  published  daily  upon  not  mere- 
ly the  most  notable  persons  in  society,  but 
also  upon  ordinary  private  individuals;  and 
he  had  a sufficient  knowledge  of  men  and 
women  to  be  aware  of  the  fact  that  the 
grossest  scandal  upon  the  most  innocent 
person  was  more  eagerly  read  than  any  of 
the  other  contents  of  the  prints  of  the  day. 
That  was  one  of  the  results  of  the  publica- 
tion of  the  scurrilities  of  Junius:  the  appe- 
tite of  the  people  for  such  piquant  fare  was 
whetted,  and  there  was  no  lack  of  literary 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  335 

cooks  to  prepare  it.  Slander  was  all  that 
the  public  demanded.  They  did  not  make 
the  brilliancy  of  Junius  one  of  the  condi- 
tions of  their  acceptance  of  such  composi- 
tions— all  they  required  was  that  the  libel 
should  have  a certain  amount  of  piquancy. 

No  one  was  better  aware  of  this  fact 
than  Oliver  Goldsmith.  He  knew  that 
Kenrick,  who  had  so  frequently  libelled 
him,  would  pay  all  the  money  that  he  could 
raise  to  obtain  the  letters  which  the  man 
who  called  himself  Captain  Jackson  had  in 
his  possession;  he  also  knew  that  there 
would  be  no  difficulty  in  finding*  a publisher 
for  them ; and  as  people  were  always  much 
more  ready  to  believe  evil  than  g*ood  re- 
g*ar ding*  any  one  — especially  a young*  girl 
against  whom  no  suspicion  had  ever  been 
breathed  — the  result  of  the  publication  of 
the  letters  would  mean  practically  ruin  to 
the  girl  who  had  been  innocent  enough  to 
write  them. 

Of  course,  a man  of  the  world,  with 
money  at  his  hand,  would  have  smiled  at 
the  possibility  of  a question  arising  as  to 
the  attitude  to  assume  in  regard  to  such  a 
scoundrel  as  Jackson.  He  would  merely 
inquire  what  sum  the  fellow  required  in 
exchange  for  the  letters.  But  Goldsmith 
was  in  such  matters  as  innocent  as  the  girl 


236  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

herself.  He  believed,  as  she  did,  that  be- 
cause the  man  did  not  make  any  monetary 
claim  upon  her,  he  was  not  sordid.  He  was 
the  more  inclined  to  disreg-ard  the  question 
of  the  possibility  of  buying*  the  man  off, 
knowing*  as  he  did  that  he  should  find  it 
impossible  to  raise  a sufficient  sum  for  the 
purpose ; and  he  believed,  with  Mary  Hor- 
neck,  that  to  tell  her  friends  how  she  was 
situated  would  be  to  forfeit  their  respect 
forever. 

She  had  told  him  that  only  cunning*  could 
prevail  against  her  enemy,  and  he  felt  cer- 
tain that  she  was  right.  He  would  try  and 
be  cunning  for  her  sake. 

He  found  great  difficulty  in  making  a 
beginning.  He  remembered  how  often  in 
his  life,  and  how  easily,  he  had  been  im- 
posed upon  — how  often  his  friends  had 
entreated  him  to  acquire  this  talent,  since 
he  had  certainly  not  been  endowed  with  it 
by  nature.  He  remembered  how  upon 
some  occasions  he  had  endeavoured  to 
take  their  advice;  and  he  also  remem- 
bered how,  when  he  thought  he  had  been 
extremely  shrewd,  it  turned  out  that  he 
had  never  been  more  clearly  imposed  upon. 

He  wondered  if  it  was  too  late  to  begin 
again  on  a more  approved  system. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  237 

He  brought  his  skill  as  a writer  of  fic- 
tion to  bear  upon  the  question  (which  may 
be  taken  as  evidence  that  he  had  not  yet 
begun  his  career  of  shrewdness). 

How,  for  instance,  would  he,  if  the  exi- 
gencies of  his  story  required  it,  cause 
Moses  Primrose  to  develop  into  a man  of 
resources  in  worldly  wisdom?  By  what 
means  would  he  turn  Honeywood  into  a 
cynical  man  of  the  world? 

He  considered  these  questions  at  con- 
siderable length,  and  only  when  he  reached 
the  Temple,  returning  to  his  chambers, 
did  he  find  out  that  the  waiter  at  the  tavern 
had  given  him  change  for  a guinea  two 
shillings  short,  and  that  half-a-crown  of  the 
change  was  made  of  pewter.  He  could  not 
help  being  amused  at  his  first  step  towards 
cunning.  He  certainly  felt  no  vexation  at 
being  made  so  easy  a victim  of — he  was  ac- 
customed to  that  position. 

When  he  found  that  the  roll  qf  manu- 
script which  he  had  thrust  between  the 
bars  of  the  grate  remained  as  he  had  left  it, 
only  slightly  charred  at  the  end  which  had 
been  the  nearer  to  the  hot,  though  not 
burning,  coals,  all  thoughts  of  guile  — all 
his  prospects  of  shrewdness  were  cast 
aside.  He  unfolded  the  pages  and  read  the 
verses  once  more.  After  all,  he  had  no 


238  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

right  to  burn  them.  He  felt  that  they  were 
no  longer  his  property.  They  either  be- 
longed to  the  world  of  literature  or  to 
Mary  Horneck,  as  — as  what  ? As  a token 
of  affection  which  he  bore  her?  But  he 
had  promised  Johnson  to  root  out  of  his 
heart  whatever  might  remain  of  that  which 
he  had  admitted  to  be  foolishness. 

Alas  I alas  ! He  sat  up  for  hours  in  his 
cold  rooms  thinking,  hoping,  dreaming  his 
old  dream  that  a day  was  coming  when  he 
might  without  reproach  put  those  verses 
into  the  girl’s  hand  — when,  learning  the 
truth,  she  would  understand. 

And  that  time  did  come. 

In  the  morning  he  found  himself  ready 
to  face  the  question  of  how  to  get  posses- 
sion of  the  letters.  No  man  of  his  imagina- 
tion could  give  his  attention  to  such  a mat- 
ter without  having  suggested  to  him  many 
schemes  for  the  attainment  of  his  object. 
But  in  the  end  he  was  painfully  aware  that 
he  had  contrived  nothing  that  did  not  in- 
volve the  risk  of  a criminal  prosecution 
against  himself,  and,  as  a consequence,  the 
discovery  of  all  that  Mary  Horneck  was 
anxious  to  hide. 

It  was  not  until  the  afternoon  that  he 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  would  be  un- 
wise for  him  to  trust  to  his  own  resources 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  239 

in  this  particular  affair.  After  all,  he  was 
but  a man  ; it  required  the  craft  of  a woman 
to  defeat  the  wiles  of  such  a demon  as  he 
had  to  deal  with.  . 

That  he  knew  to  be  a wise  conclusion  to 
come  to.  But  where  was  the*  woman  to 
whom  he  could  go  for  help?  He  wanted  to 
find  a woman  who  was  accustomed  to  the 
wiles  of  the  devil,  and  he  believed  that  he 
should  have  considerable  difl&culty  in  find- 
ing her. 

He  was,  of  course,  wrong.  He  had  not 
been  considering  this  aspect  of  the  ques- 
tion for  long  before  he  thought  of  Mrs. 
Abington,  and  in  a moment  he  knew  that  he 
had  found  a woman  who  could  help  him  if 
she  had  a mind  to  do  so.  Her  acquaintance 
with  wiles  he  knew  to  be  large  and  varied, 
and  he  liked  her. 

He  liked  her  so  well  that  he  felt  sure 
she  would  help  him — if  he  made  it  worth 
her  while;  and  he  thought  he  saw  his  way  to 
make  it  worth  her  while. 

He  was  so  convinced  he  was  on  the  way 
to  success  that  he  became  impatient  at  the 
reflection  that  he  could  not  possibly  see 
Mrs.  Abington  until  the  evening.  But 
while  he  was  in  this  state  his  servant  an- 
nounced a visitor  — one  with  whom  he  was 


240  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

not  familiar,  but  who  gave  his  name  as 
Colonel  Gwyn. 

Full  of  surprise,  he  ordered  Colonel 
Gwyn  to  be  shown  into  the  room.  He 
recollected  having  met  him  at  a dinner  at 
the  Reynolds’s,  and  once  at  the  Hornecks’ 
house  in  Westminster  ; but  why  he  should 
pay  a visit  to  Brick  Court  Goldsmith  was 
at  a loss  to  know.  He,  however,  greeted 
Colonel  Gwyn  as  if  he  considered  it  to  be 
one  of  the  most  natural  occurrences  in  the 
world  for  him  to  appear  at  that  particular 
moment. 

“^Dr.  Goldsmith,”  said  the  visitor  when 
he  had  seated  himself,  “you  have  no  doubt 
every  reason  to  be  surprised  at  my  taking 
the  liberty  of  calling  upon  you  without  first 
communicating  with  you.” 

“ Not  at  all,  sir,”  said  Goldsmith.  “ ’Tis 
a great  compliment  you  offer  to  me.  Bear 
in  mind  that  I am  sensible  of  it,  sir.” 

“You  are  very  kind,  sir.  Those  who 
have  a right  to  speak  on  the  subject  have 
frequently  referred  to  you  as  the  most  gen- 
erous of  men.” 

“Oh,  sir,  I perceive  that  you  have  been 
talking  with  some  persons  whose  generos- 
ity was  more  noteworthy  than  their  judg- 
ment.” 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  241 

And  once  ag*ain  he  gave  an  example  of 
the  Goldsmith  bow  which  Garrick  had  so 
successfully  caricatured. 

“Nay,  Dr.  Goldsmith,  if  I thought  so  I 
would  not  be  here  to-day.  The  fact  is,  sir, 
that  I — I — i’  faith,  sir,  I scarce  know  how 
to  tell  you  how  it  is  I appear  before  you  in 
this  fashion.” 

“ You  do  not  need  to  have  an  excuse,  I 
do  assure  you.  Colonel  Gwyn.  You  are  a 
friend  of  my  best  friend  — Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds.” 

“Yes,  sir,  and  of  other  friends,  too,  I 
would  fain  hope.  In  short.  Dr.  Goldsmith, 
I am  here  because  I know  how  highly  you 
stand  in  the  esteem  of — of — well,  of  all  the 
members  of  the  Horneck  family.” 

It  was  now  Goldsmith’s  turn  to  stam- 
mer. He  was  so  surprised  by  the  way  his 
visitor  introduced  the  name  of  the  Hor- 
necks  he  scarcely  knew  what  reply  to  make 
to  him. 

“I  perceive  that  you  are  surprised,  sir.” 
said  Gwyn. 

“No,  no  — not  at  all  — that  is  — no,  not 
greatly  surprised  — only  — well,  sir,  why 
should  you  not  be  a friend  of  Mrs.  Hor- 
neck? Her  son  is  like  yourself,  a soldier,” 
stammered  Goldsmith. 


242  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  calling 
more  than  once  during  the  past  week  or 
two  upon  the  Hornecks,  Dr.  Goldsmith,” 
said  Gwyn;  “but  upon  no  occasion  have  I 
been  fortunate  enough  to  see  Miss  Hor- 
neck.  They  told  me  she  was  by  no  means 
well.” 

“And  they  told  you  the  truth,  sir,”  said 
Goldsmith  somewhat  brusquely. 

“You  know  it  then?  Miss  Horneck  is 
really  indisposed  ? Ah  ! I feared  that  they 
were  merely  excusing  her  presence  on  the 
ground  of  illness.  I must  confess  a head- 
ache was  not  specified.” 

“Nay,  sir,  Miss  Horneck’s  relations  are 
not  destitute  of  imagination.  But  why 
should  you  fancy  that  you  were  being  de- 
ceived by  them.  Colonel  Gwyn?” 

Colonel  Gwyn  laughed  slightly,  not 
freely. 

“I  thought  that  the  lady  herself  might 
think,  perhaps,  that  I was  taking  a liberty,” 
he  said  somewhat  awkwardly. 

“Why  should  she  think  that.  Colonel 
Gwyn?”  asked  Goldsmith. 

“Well,  Dr.  Goldsmith,  you  see  — sir, 
you  are,  I know,  a favoured  friend  of  the 
lady’s  — I perceived  long  ago  — nay,  it  is 
well  known  that  she  regards  you  with 
great  affection  as  a — no,  not  as  a father  — 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  243 

no,  as  — as  an  elder  brother,  that  is  it  — 
yes,  as  an  elder  brother;  and  therefore  I 
thoug-ht  that  I would  venture  to  intrude 
upon  you  to-day.  Sir,  to  be  quite  frank 
with  you,  I love  Miss  Horneck,  but  I hesi- 
tate— as  lam  sure  you  could  understand 
that  any  man  must  — before  declaring*  my- 
self to  her.  Now,  it  occurred  to  me.  Dr. 
Goldsmith,  that  you  mig*ht  not  conceive  it 
to  be  a g*ross  impertinence  on  my  part  if  I 
were  to  ask  you  if  you  knew  of  the  lady’s 
affections  being*  already  engag*ed.  I hope 
you  will  be  frank  with  me,  sir.” 

Goldsmith  looked  with  curious  eyes  at 
the  man  before  him.  Colonel  Gwyn  was  a 
well  built  man  of  perhaps  a year  or  two  over 
thirty.  He  sat  uprig*ht  on  his  chair  — a trifle 
stiffly,  it  might  be  thought  by  some  people, 
but  that  was  pardonable  in  a military  man. 
He  was  also  somewhat  inclined  to  be  pom- 
pous in  his  manners;  but  any  one  could  per- 
ceive that  they  were  the  manners  of  a 
gentleman. 

Goldsmith  looked  earnestly  at  him.  Was 
that  the  man  who  was  to  take  Mary  Horneck 
away  from  him  ? he  asked  himself. 

He  could  not  speak  for  some  time  after 
his  visitor  had  spoken.  At  last  he  gave  a 
little  start. 


244  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“ You  should  not  have  come  to  me,  sir,^' 
he  said  slowly. 

“ I felt  that  I was  taking  a great  liberty, 
sir,”  said  Gwyn. 

“ On  the  contrary,  sir,  I feel  that  you 
have  honoured  me  with  your  confidence. 
But  — ah,  sir,  do  you  fancy  that  I am  the 
sort  of  man  a lady  would  seek  for  a confi- 
dant in  any  matter  concerning  her  heart?” 

“I  thought  it  possible  that  she  — Miss 
Horneck — might  have  let  you  know.  You 
are  not  as  other  men.  Dr.  Goldsmith ; you 
are  a poet,  and  so  she  might  naturally  feel 
that  you  would  be  interested  in  a love  affair. 
Poets,  all  the  world  knows,  sir,  have  a sort 
of — well,  a sort  of  vested  interest  in  the 
love  affairs  of  humanity,  so  to  speak.” 

“Yes,  sir,  that  is  the  decree  of  Heaven, 
I suppose,  to  compensate  them  for  the  emp- 
tiness in  their  own  hearts  to  which  they 
must  become  accustomed.  I have  heard  of 
childless  women  becoming  the  nurses  to 
the  children  of  their  happier  sisters,  and 
growing  as  fond  of  them  as  if  they  were 
their  own  offspring.  It  is  on  the  same  prin- 
ciple, I suppose,  that  poets  become  sympa- 
thetically interested  in  the  world  of  lovers, 
which  is  quite  apart  from  the  world  of 
letters.” 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  245 

Goldsmith  spoke  slowly,  looking-  his 
visitor  in  the  face.  He  had  no  difficulty  in 
perceiving-  that  Colonel  Gwyn  failed  to  un- 
derstand the  exact  appropriateness  of  what 
he  had  said.  Colonel  Gwyn  himself  admitted 
as  much. 

“I  protest,  sir,  I scarcely  take  your 
meaning-,”  he  said.  “ But  for  that  matter, 
I fear  that  I was  scarcely  fortunate  enoug-h 
to  make  myself  quite  plain  to  you.” 

“Oh,  yes,”  said  Goldsmith,  “I  think  I 
g-athered  from  your  words  all  that  you  came 
hither  to  learn.  Briefly,  Colonel  Gwyn,  you 
are  reluctant  to  subject  yourself  to  the 
humiliation  of  having-  your  suit  rejected  by 
the  lady,  and  so  you  have  come  hither  to  try 
and  learn  from  me  what  are  your  chances 
of  success.”  - 

“ How  admirably  you  put  the  matter!” 
said  Gwyn.  “And  I fancied  you  did  not 
apprehend  the  purport  of  my  visit.  Well, 
sir,  what  chance  have  I ?” 

“I  cannot  tell,”  said  Goldsmith.  “ Miss 
Horneck  has  never  told  me  that  she  loved 
any  man.” 

“ Then  I have  still  a chance?” 

“Nay,  sir;  girls  do  not  usually  confide 
the  story  of  their  attachments  to  their 
fathers — no,  nor  to  their  elder  brothers. 
But  if  you  wish  to  consider  your  chances 


246  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

with  any  lady,  Colonel  Gwyn,  I would  ven- 
ture to  advise  you  to  g*o  and  stand  in  front 
of  a looking-g-lass  and  ask  yourself  if  you 
are  the  manner  of  man  to  whom  a young- 
lady  would  be  likely  to  become  attached. 
Add  to  the  effect  of  your  personality — 
which  I think  is  great,  sir — the  glamour 
that  surrounds  the  profession  in  which  you 
have  won  distinction,  and  you  will  be  able 
to  judge  for  yourself  whether  your  suit 
would  be  likely  to  be  refused  by  the  ma- 
jority of  young  ladies.” 

“You  flatter  me.  Dr.  Goldsmith.  But, 
assuming  for  a moment  that  there  is  some 
force  in  your  words,  I protest  that  they  do 
not  reassure  me.  Miss  Horneck,  sir,  is  not 
the  lady  to  be  carried  away  by  the  consider- 
ations that  would  prevail  in  the  eyes  of 
others  of  her  sex.” 

“You  have  learned  something  of  Miss 
Horneck,  at  any  rate.  Colonel  Gwyn.” 

“I  think  I have,  sir.  When  I think  of 
her,  I feel  despondent.  Does  the  man  exist 
who  would  be  worthy  of  her  love?” 

“ He  does  not.  Colonel  Gwyn.  But  that 
is  no  reason  why  she  may  not  love  some 
man.  Does  a woman  only  give  her  love  to 
one  who  is  worthy  of  it?  It  is  fortunate 
for  men  that  that  is  not  the  way  with 
women.” 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  247 

“It  is  fortunate;  and  in  that  reflection, 
sir,  I find  my  greatest  consolation  at  the 
present  moment.  I am  not  a bad  man,  Dr. 
Goldsmith — not  as  men  go — there  is  in  my 
lifetime  nothing  that  I have  cause  to  be 
ashamed  of;  but,  I repeat,  when  I think  of 
her  sweetness,  her  purity,  her  tenderness, 
I am  overcome  with  a sense  of  my  own  pre- 
sumption in  aspiring  to  win  her.  You  think 
me  presumptuous  in  this  matter,  I am  con- 
vinced, sir.” 

“I  do — I do.  I know  Mary  Horneck.” 

“I  give  you  my  word  that  I am  better 
satisfied  with  your  agreement  with  me  in 
this  respect  than  I should  be  if  you  were 
to  flatter  me.  Allow  me  to  thank  you  for 
your  great  courtesy  to  me,  sir.  Y ou  have  not 
sent  me  away  without  hope,  and  I trust  that 
I may  assume.  Dr.  Goldsmith,  that  I have 
your  good  wishes  in  this  matter,  which  I 
hold  to  be  vital  to  my  happiness.” 

“Colonel  Gwyn,  my  wishes — my  prayers 
to  Heaven  are  that  Mary  Horneck  may  be 
happy.” 

‘ ‘ And  I ask  for  nothing  more,  sir.  There 
is  my  hand  on  it.” 

Oliver  Goldsmith  took  the  hand  that  he 
but  dimly  saw  stretched  out  to  him. 


CHAPTER  XXL 


Never  for  a moment  had  Goldsmith  felt 
jealous  of  the  young-er  men  who  were  un- 
derstood to  be  admirers  of  the  Jessamy 

Bride.  He  had  made  humourous  verses  on 

*• 

some  of  them,  Henry  Bunbury  had  supplied 
comic  illustrations,  and  Mary  and  her  sister 
had  had  their  laugh.  He  could  not  even 
now  feel  jealous  of  Colonel  Gwyn,  though 
he  knew  that  he  was  a more  eligible  suitor 
than  the  majority  whom  he  had  met  from 
time  to  time  at  the  Hornecks’  house.  He 
knew  that  since  Colonel  Gwyn  had  appeared 
the  girl  had  no  thoughts  to  give  to  love  and 
suitors.  If  Gwyn  were  to  go  to  her  imme- 
diately and  offer  himself  as  a suitor  he 
would  meet  with  a disappointment. 

Yes;  at  the  moment  he  had  no  reason  to 
feel  jealous  of  the  man  who  had  just  left 
him.  On  the  contrary,  he  felt  that  he  had 
a right  to  be  exultant  at  the  thought  that  it 
was  he  — he  — Oliver  Goldsmith  — who  had 
been  entrusted  by  Mary  Horneck  with  her 
secret  — with  the  duty  of  saving  her  from 
the  scoundrel  who  was  persecuting  her. 

248 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  249 

Colonel  Gwyn  was  a soldier,  and  yet  it  was 
to  him  that  this  knig-ht’s  enterprise  had 
fallen. 

He  felt  that  he  had  every  reason  to  be 
proud.  He  had  been  placed  in  a position 
which  was  certainly  quite  new  to  him.  He 
was  to  compass  the  rescue  of  the  maiden  in 
distress ; and  had  he  not  heard  of  innumer- 
able instances  in  which  the  reward  of  suc- 
cess in  such,  an  undertaking*  was  the  hand 
of  the  maiden? 

For  half  an  hour  he  felt  exultant.  He 
had  boldly  faced  an  adverse  fate  all  his  life; 
he  had  g*rappled  with  a cruel  destiny;  and, 
thoug-h  the  strug*g*le  had  lasted  all  his  life, 
he  had  come  out  the  conqueror.  He  had 
become  the  most  disting-uished  man  of  let- 
ters in  England.  As  Professor  at  the 
Royal  Academy  his  superiority  had  been 
acknowledged  by  the  most  eminent  men  of 
the  period.  And  then,  although  he  was 
plain  of  face  and  awkward  in  manner  — 
nearly  as  awkward,  if  far  from  being  so 
offensive,  as  Johnson  — he  had  been  ap- 
pointed her  own  knight  by  the  loveliest  girl 
in  England.  He  felt  that  he  had  reason  to 
exult. 

But  then  the  reaction  came.  He  thought 
of  himself  as  compared  with  Colonel  Gwyn 
— he  thought  of  himself  as  a suitor  by  the 


250  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

side  of  Colonel  Gwyn.  What  would  the 
world  say  of  a g-irl  who  would  choose  him 
in  preference  to  Colonel  Gwyn?  He  had 
told  Gwyn  to  survey  himself  in  a mirror  in 
order  to  learn  what  chance  he  would  have 
of  being*  accepted  as  the  lover  of  a lovely 
g-irl.  Was  he  willing*  to  apply  the  same 
test  to  himself? 

He  had  not  the  courage  to  g*lance  toward 
even  the  small  g*lass  which  he  had  — a glass 
which  could  reflect  only  a small  portion  of 
his  plainness. 

He  remained  seated  in  his  chair  for  a 
long  time,  being  saved  from  complete  des- 
pair only  by  the  reflection  that  it  was  he 
who  was  entrusted  with  the  task  of  free- 
ing Mary  Horneck  from  the  enemy  who 
had  planned  her  destruction.  This  was  his 
one  agreeable  reflection,  and  after  a time 
it,  too,  became  tempered  by  the  thought 
that  all  his  task  was  still  before  him:  he 
had  taken  no  step  toward  saving  her. 

He  started  up,  called  for  a lamp,  and 
proceeded  to  dress  himself  for  the  evening. 
He  would  dine  at  a coffee  house  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Covent  Garden  Theatre, 
and  visit  Mrs.  Abington  in  the  green  room 
while  his  play — in  which  she  did  not  appear 
— was  being  acted  on  the  stage. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  251 

He  was  unfortunate  enough  to  meet 
Boswell  in  the  coffee  house,  so  that  his 
design  of  thinking  out,  while  at  dinner,  the 
course  which  he  should  pursue  in  regard  to 
the  actress  — how  far  he  would  be  safe  in 
confiding  in  her  — was  frustrated. 

The  little  Scotchman  was  in  great  grief: 
Johnson  had  actually  quarrelled  with  him 
— well,  not  exactly  quarrelled,  for  it  re- 
quired two  to  make  a quarel,  and  Boswell 
had  steadily  refused  to  contribute  to  such 
a disaster.  Johnson,  however,  was  so  over- 
whelming a personality  in  Boswell’s  eyes 
he  could  almost  make  a quarrel  without  the 
assistance  of  a second  person. 

“Psha!  Sir,”  said  Goldsmith,  “you 
know  as  little  of  Dr.  Johnson  as  you  do  of 
the  Irish  nation  and  their  characteristics.” 

“ Perhaps  that  is  so,  but  I felt  that  I 
was  getting  to  know  him,”  said  Boswell. 
“But  now  all  is  over;  he  will  never  see 
me  again.” 

“Nay,  man,  cannot  you  perceive  that 
he  is  only  assuming  this  attitude  in  order 
to  give  you  a chance  of  knowing  him  bet- 
ter ? ” said  Goldsmith. 

“For  the  life  of  me  I cannot  see  how 
that  could  be,”  cried  Boswell  after  a con- 
templative pause. 


252  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“Why,  sir,  you  must  perceive  that  he 
wishes  to  impress  you  with  a consciousness 
of  his  g-enerosity.” 

“What,  by  quarrelling  with  me  and  de- 
claring that  he  would  never  see  me  again?” 

“ No,  not  in  that  way,  though  I believe 
there  are  some  people  who  would  feel  that 
it  was  an  act  of  generosity  on  Dr.  Johnson’s 
part  to  remain  secluded  for  a space  in 
order  to  give  the  rest  of  the  world  a chance 
of  talking  together.” 

“What  does  it  matter  about  the  rest  of 
the  world,  sir  ? ” 

“Not  much,  I suppose  I should  say, 
since  he  means  me  to  be  his  biographer.” 

Boswell,  of  course,  utterly  failed  to  ap- 
preciate the  sly  tone  in  which  the  Irishman 
spoke,  and  took  him  up  quite  seriously. 

“Is  it  possible  that  he  has  been  in  com- 
munication with  you.  Dr.  Goldsmith?”  he 
cried  anxiously. 

“I  will  not  divulge  Dr.  Johnson’s 
secrets,  sir,”  replied  Goldsmith,  with  an 
affectation  of  the  manner  of  the  man  who 
a short  time  before  had  said  that  Shake- 
speare was  pompous. 

“ Now  you  are  imitating  him,”  said  Bos- 
well. “ But  I perceive  that  he  has  told  you 
of  our  quarrel  — our  misunderstanding.  It 
arose  through  you,  sir.” 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  253 

“ Through  me,  sir  ? ” 

“ Through  the  visit  of  your  relative,  the 
Dean,  after  we  had  dined  at  the  Crown  and 
Anchor.  You  see,  he  bound  me  down  to 
promise  him  to  tell  no  one  of  that  unhappy 
occurrence,  sir  ; and  yet  he  heard  that  Gar- 
rick has  lately  been  mimicking  the  Dean  — 
yes,  down  to  his  very  words,  at  the  Rey- 
nolds’s, and  so  he  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  Garrick  was  made  acquainted  with  the 
whole  story  by  me.  He  sent  for  me  yester- 
day, and  upbraided  me  for  half  an  hour.” 
“To  whom  did  you  give  an  account  of 
the  affair,  sir?” 

“ To  no  human  being,  sir.” 

“Oh,  come  now,  you  must  have  given  it 
to  some  one.” 

“To  no  one,  sir  — that  is,  no  one  from 
whom  Garrick  could  possibly  have  had  the 
story.” 

“Ah,  I knew,  and  so  did  Johnson,  that 
it  would  be  out  of  the  question  to  expect 
that  you  would  hold  your  tongue  on  so 
interesting  a secret.  Well,  perhaps  this 
will  be  a lesson  to  you  in  the  future.  I 
must  not  fail  to  make  an  entire  chapter  of 
this  in  my  biography  of  our  great  friend. 
Perhaps  you  would  do  me  the  favour  to 
write  down  a clear  and  as  nearly  accurate 
an  account  as  your  pride  will  allow  of  your 


254  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

quarrel  with  the  Doctor,  sir.  Such  an 
account  would  be  an  amazing*  assistance  to 
posterity  in  forming  an  estimate  of  the 
character  of  Johnson.” 

“Ah,  sir,  am  I not  sufficiently  humili- 
ated by  the  reflection  that  my  friendly  rela- 
tions with  the  man  whom  I revere  more 
than  any  living  human  being  are  irretriev- 
ably ruptured?  You  will  not  add  to  the 
poignancy  of  that  reflection  by  asking  me 
to  write  down  an  account  of  our  quarrel  in 
order  to  perpetuate  so  deplorable  an  in- 
cident?” 

“Sir,  I perceive  that  you  are  as  yet 
ignorant  of  the  duties  of  the  true  bio- 
grapher. You  seem  to  think  that  a bio- 
grapher has  a right  to  pick  and  choose  the 
incidents  with  which  he  has  to  deal  — that 
he  may,  if  he  please,  omit  the  mention  of 
any  occurrence  that  may  tend  to  show  his 
hero  or  his  hero’s  friends  in  an  unfavour- 
able light.  Sir,  I tell  you  frankly  that  your 
notions  of  biography  are  as  erroneous  as 
they  are  mischievous.  Mr.  Boswell,  I am  a 
more  conscientious  man,  and  so,  sir,  I in- 
sist on  your  writing  down  while  they  are 
still  fresh  in  your  mind  the  very  words 
that  passed  between  you  and  Dr.  Johnson 
on  this  matter,  and  you  will  also  furnish 
me  with  a list  of  the  persons  — if  you  have 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  255 

not  sufficient  paper  at  your  lodg-ings  for 
the  purpose,  you  can  order  a ream  at  the 
stationer’s  at  the  corner  — to  whom  you 
g-ave  an  account  of  the  humiliation  of  Dr. 
Johnson  by  the  clergyman  who  claimed 
relationship  with  me,  but  who  was  an  im- 
postor. Come,  Mr.  Boswell,  be  a man,  sir; 
do  not  seek  to  avoid  so  obvious  a duty.” 

Boswell  looked  at  him,  but,  as  usual, 
failed  to  detect  the  least  gleam  of  a smile 
on  his  face. 

He  rose  from  the  table  and  walked  out 
of  the  coffee  house  without  a word. 

“Thank  heaven  I have  got  rid  of  that 
Peeping  Tom,”  muttered  Goldsmith.  “If 
I had  acted  otherwise  in  regard  to  him  I 
should  not  have  been  out  of  hearing  of  his 
rasping  tongue  until  midnight. 

(The  very  next  morning  a letter  from 
Boswell  was  brought  to  him.  It  told  him 
that  he  had  sought  Johnson  the  previous 
evening,  and  had  obtained  his  forgiveness. 
“You  were  right,  sir,”  the  letter  con- 
cluded. “ Dr.  Johnson  has  still  further 
impressed  me  with  a sense  of  his  gener- 
osity.”) 

But  as  soon  as  Boswell  had  been  got  rid 
of  Goldsmith  hastened  to  the  playhouse  in 
order  to  consult  with  the  lady  who  — 
through  long  practice  — was,  he  believed. 


256  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

the  most  ably  qualified  of  her  sex  to  give 
him  advice  as  to  the  best  way  of  getting  the 
better  of  a scoundrel.  It  was  only  when  he 
was  entering  the  green  room  that  he  rec- 
ollected he  had  not  yet  made  up  his  mind 
as  to  the  exact  limitations  he  should  put 
upon  his  confidence  with  Mrs.  Abington. 

The  beautiful  actress  was  standing  in 
one  of  those  picturesque  attitudes  which 
she  loved  to  assume,  at  one  end  of  the  long 
room.  The  second  act  only  of  “ She  Stoops 
to  Conquer  ” had  been  reached,  and  as  she 
did  not  appear  in  the  comedy,  she  had  no 
need  to  begin  dressing  for  the  next  piece. 
She  wore  a favourite  dress  of  hers  — one 
which  had  taken  the  town  by  storm  a few 
months  before,  and  which  had  been  imi- 
tated by  every  lady  of  quality  who  had 
more  respect  for  fashion  than  for  herself. 
It  was  a negligently  flowing  gown  of  some 
soft  but  heavy  fabric,  very  low  and  loose 
about  the  neck  and  shoulders. 

“Ha,  my  little  hero,”  cried  the  lady 
when  Goldsmith  approached  and  made  his 
bow,  first  to  a group  of  players  who  stood 
near  the  door,  and  then  to  Mrs.  Abington. 
“Ha,  my  little  hero,  whom  have  you  been 
drubbing  last  ? Oh,  lud  ! to  think  of  your 
beating  a critic  ! Your  courage  sets  us  all 
a-dying  of  envy.  How  we  should  love  to 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  257 

pommel  some  of  our  critics  ! There  was  a 
rumour  last  nig*ht  that  the  man  had  died, 
Dr.  Goldsmith.” 

“ The  fellow  would  not  pay  such  a trib- 
ute to  my  powers,  depend  on’t,  madam,” 
said  Goldsmith. 

“Not  if  he  could  avoid  it,  I am  certain,” 
said  she.  “Faith,  sir,  you  g*ave  him  a 
pretty  fair  drubbing*,  anyhow.  ’ Twas  the 
talk  of  the  playhouse,  I g*ive  you  my  word. 
Some  vastly  pretty  thing-s  were  said  about 
you.  Dr.  Goldsmith.  It  would  turn  your 
head  if  I were  to  repeat  them  all.  For  in- 
stance, a g*entleman  in  this  very  room  last 
nig*ht  said  that  it  was  the  first  case  that  had 
come  under  his  notice  of  a doctor’s  making* 
an  attempt  upon  a man’s  life,  except 
through  the  legitimate  professional  chan- 
nel.” 

“If  all  the  pretty  thing*s  that  were 
spoken  were  no  prettier  than  that,  Mrs. 
Abington,  you  will  not  turn  my  head,”  said 
Goldsmith.  “Thoug*h,  for  that  matter,  I 
vow  that  to  effect  such  a purpose  you  only 
need  to  stand  before  me  in  that  dress  — ay, 
or  any  other.” 

“Oh,  sir,  I protest  that  I cannot  stand 
before  such  a fusillade  of  compliment — I 
sink  under  it,  sir  — thus,”  and  she  made  an 
exquisite  courtesy.  “Talk  of  turning* 


258  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

heads  ! do  you  fancy  that  actresses’  heads 
are  as  immovable  as  their  hearts,  Dr.  Gold- 
smith ? ” 

“I trust  that  their  hearts  are  less  so, 
madam,  for  just  now  I am  extremely  anx- 
ious that  the  heart  of  the  most  beautiful 
and  most  accomplished  should  be  moved,” 
said  Goldsmith. 

“You  have  only  to  give  me  your  word 
that  you  have  written  as  good  a comedy  as 
‘ She  Stoops  to  Conquer,’  with  a better  part 
for  me  in  it  than  that  of  Miss  Hardcastle.” 

“I  have  the  design  of  one  in  my  head, 
madam.” 

“ Then,  faith,  sir,  ’tis  lucky  that  I did  not 
say  anything  to  turii  your  head.  Dr.  Gold- 
smith, my  heart  is  moved  already.  See  how 
easy  it  is  for  a great  author  to  effect  his 
object  where  a poor  actress  is  concerned. 
And  you  have  begun  the  comedy,  sir?” 

“I  cannot  begin  it  until  I get  rid  of  a 
certain  tragedy  that  is  in  the  air.  I want 
your  assistance  in  that  direction.” 

“What!  Do  you  mistake  the  farce  of 
drubbing  a critic  for  a tragedy,  Dr.  Gold- 
smith?” 

“Psha,  madam!  What  do  you  take  me 
for?  Even  if  I were  as  poor  a critic  as 
Kenrick  I could  still  discriminate  between 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  259 

one  and  t’  other.  Can  you  give  me  half  an 
hour  of  your  time,  Mrs.  Abington?” 

“With  all  pleasure,  sir.  We  shall  sit 
down.  You  wear  a tragedy  face.  Dr.  Gold- 
smith.” 

“I  need  to  do  so,  madam,  as  I think  you 
will  allow  when  you  hear  all  I have  to  tell 
you.” 

“Oh,  ludi  You  frighten  me.  Pray 
begin,  sir.” 

“ How  shall  I begin?  Have  you  ever  had 
to  encounter  the  devil,  madam?” 

“Frequently,  sir.  Alas!  I fear  that  I 
have  not  always  prevailed  against  him  as 
successfully  as  you  did  in  your  encounter 
with  one  of  his  family  — a critic.  Your 
story  promises  to  be  more  interesting  than 
your  face  suggested.” 

“I  have  to  encounter  a devil,  Mrs.  Abing- 
ton,  and  I come  to  you  for  help.” 

“ Then  you  must  tell  me  if  your  devil  is 
male  or  female.  If  the  former  I think  I can 
promise  you  my  help ; if  the  latter,  do  not 
count  on  me.  When  the  foul  fiend  assumes 
the  form  of  an  angel  of  light  — which  I take 
to  be  the  way  St.  Paul  meant  to  convey  the 
idea  of  a woman  — he  is  too  powerful  for 
me,  I frankly  confess.” 

“ Mine  is  a male  fiend.” 


260  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“Not  the  manag*er  of  a theatre — another 
form  of  the  same  hue?  ” 

“Nay,  dear  madam,  there  are  deg*rees 
of  blackness.” 

“Ah,  yes;  positive  bad,  comparative 
Baddeley,  superlative  Colman.” 

“If  I could  compose  a phrase  like  that, 
Mrs.  Abing-ton,  I should  be  the  greatest  wit 
in  London,  and  ruin  my  life  going  from 
coffee  house  to  coffee  house  repeating  it.” 
“Pray  do  not  tell  Mrs.  Baddeley  that  I 
made  it,  sir.” 

“How  could  I,  madam,  when  you  have 
just  told  me  that  a she-devil  was  more  than 
you  could  cope  with?” 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


“And  now,  sir,  to  face  the  particulars  — 
to  proceed  from  the  fancy  embroidery  of 
wit  to  the  solid  fabric  of  fact  — who  or  what 
is  the  ag-g*ressive  demon  that  you  want  exor- 
cised?” 

“ His  name  is  Jackson — he  calls  himself 
Captain  Jackson,  ” replied  Oliver.  He  had 
not  made  up  his  mind  how  much  he  should 
tell  of  Mary  Horneck’s  story.  He  blamed 
Boswell  for  interrupting*  his  consideration 
of  this  point  after  he  had  dined ; though  it 
is  doubtful  if  he  would  have  made  any  sub- 
stantial advance  in  that  direction  even  if 
the  unhappy  Scotchman  had  not  thrust  him- 
self and  his  grievance  upon  him. 

“Jackson — Captain  Jackson!”  cried  the 
actress.  “Why,  Dr.  Goldsmith,  this  is  a 
very  little  fiend  that  you  ask  me  to  help  you 
to  destroy.  Surely,  sir,  he  can  be  crushed 
without  my  assistance.  One  does  not  ask 
for  a battering-ram  to  overturn  a house  of 
cards  — one  does  not  requisition  a park  of 
artillery  to  demolish  a sparrow.” 

261 


262  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“Nay,  but  if  a blunderbuss  be  not  handy, 
one  should  avail  oneself  of  the  power  of  a 
piece  of  ordnance,”  said  Goldsmith.  “ The 
truth  is,  madam,  that  in  this  matter  I repre- 
sent only  the  blunder  of  the  blunderbuss.” 
“If  you  drift  into  wit, sir,  we  shall  never 
g-et  on.  I know  ’tis  hard  for  you  to  avoid 
it ; but  time  is  flying.  What  has  this  Captain 
Jackson  been  doing  that  he  must  be  sacri- 
ficed? You  must  be  straight  with  me.” 
“I’m  afraid  it  has  actually  come  to  that. 
Well,  Mrs.  Abington,  in  brief,  there  is  a 
lady  in  the  question.” 

“ Oh ! you  need  scarce  dwell  on  so  inevit- 
able an  incident  as  that ; I was  waiting  for 
the  lady.” 

“She  is  the  most  charming  of  her  sex, 
madam.” 

“I  never  knew  one  that  wasn’t.  Don’t 
waste  time  over  anything  that  may  be  taken 
for  granted.” 

“Unhappily  she  was  all  unacquainted 
with  the  wickedness  of  men.” 

“ I wonder  in  what  part  of  the  world  she 
lived — certainly  not  in  London.” 

“ Staying  with  a relation  in  the  country 
this  fellow  Jackson  appeared  upon  the 
scene ” 

“Ah!  the  most  ancient  story  that  the 
world  knows:  Innocence,  the  garden,  the 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  263 

serpent.  Alas!  sir,  there  is  no  return  to 
the  Garden  of  Innocence,  even  though  the 
serpent  be  slaughtered.” 

“Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Abington  ” — Gold- 
smith spoke  slowly  and  gravely — “ pardon 
me.  This  real  story  is  not  so  common- 
place as  that  of  my  Olivia.  Destiny  has 
more  resources  than  the  most  imaginative 
composer  of  fiction.” 

In  as  direct  a fashion  as  possible  he  told 
the  actress  the  pitiful  story  of  how  Mary 
Horneck  was  imposed  upon  by  the  glamour 
of  the  man  who  let  it  be  understood  that  he 
was  a hero,  only  incapacitated  by  a wound 
from  taking  any  further  part  in  the  cam- 
paign against  the  rebels  in  America;  and 
how  he  refused  to  return  her  the  letters 
which  she  had  written  to  him,  but  had 
threatened  to  print  them  in  such  a way  as 
would  give  them  the  appearance  of  having 
been  written  by  a guilty  woman. 

“The  lady  is  prostrated  with  grief,”  he 
said,  concluding  his  story.  “ The  very  con- 
templation of  the  possibility  of  her  letters 
being  printed  is  killing  her,  and  I am  con- 
vinced that  she  would  not  survive  the  shame 
of  knowing  that  the  scoundrel  had  carried 
out  his  infamous  threat.” 

“ ’Tis  a sad  story  indeed,”  said  Mrs. 
Abington.  “ The  man  is  as  bad  as  bad  can 


264  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

be.  He  claimed  acquaintance  with  me  on 
that  famous  nig-ht  at  the  Pantheon,  thoug-h 
I must  confess  that  I had  only  a vag*ue  recol- 
lection of  meeting*  him  before  his  reg*iment 
was  ordered  across  the  Atlantic  to  quell  the 
rebellion  in  the  plantations.  Only  two  days 
ag*o  I heard  that  he  had  been  drummed  out 
of  the  army,  and  that  he  had  sunk  to  the  low- 
est point  possible  for  a man  to  fall  to  in  this 
world.  But  surely  you  know  that  all  the 
fellow  wants  is  to  levy  what  was  termed  on 
the  border  of  Scotland  ‘ blackmail  ’ upon 
the  unhappy  g*irl.  ’Tis  merely  a question 
of  guineas.  Dr.  Goldsmith.  You  perceive 
that?  You  are  a man?” 

“That  was  indeed  my  first  belief ; but, 
on  consideration,  I have  come  to  think  that 
he  is  fiend  enough  to  aim  only  at  the  ruin  of 
the  girl,”  said  Goldsmith. 

“Psha!  sir,  I believe  not  in  this  high 
standard  of  crime.  I believe  not  in  the  self- 
sacrifice  of  such  fellows  for  the  sake  of  their 
principles,”  cried  the  lady.  “ Go  to  the  fel- 
low with  your  guineas  and  shake  them  in  a 
bag  under  his  nose,  and  you  shall  quickly 
see  how  soon  he  will  forego  the  dramatic 
elements  in  his  attitude,  ^ and  make  an 
ignoble  grab  at  the  coins.” 

“You  may  be  right,”  said  he.  “But 
whence  are  the  guineas  to  come,  pray?” 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  265 

“Surely  the  lady’s  friends  will  not  see 
her  lost  for  the  sake  of  a couple  of  hundred 
pounds.” 

“ Nay;  but  her  aim  is  to  keep  the  matter 
from  the  ears  of  her  friends ! She  would  be 
overcome  with  shame  were  it  to  reach  their 
ears  that  she  had  written  letters  of  affection 
to  such  a man.” 

“She  must  be  a singularly  unpractical 
young  lady,  Dr.  Goldsmith.” 

“If  she  had  not  been  more  than  inno- 
cent would  she,  think  you,  have  allowed 
herself  to  be  imposed  on  by  a stranger?” 
“Alas,  sir,  if  there  were  no  ladies  like 
her  in  the  world,  you  gentlemen  who  de- 
light us  with  your  works  of  fiction  would 
have  to  rely  solely  on  your  imagination; 
and  that  means  going  to  another  world. 
But  to  return  to  the  matter  before  us;  you 
wish  to  obtain  possession  of  the  letters? 
How  do  you  suggest  that  I can  help  you  to 
accomplish  that  purpose?  ” 

“ Why,  madam,  it  is  you  to  whom  I come 
for  suggestions.  I saw  the  man  in  conver- 
sation with  you  first  at  the  Pantheon,  and 
then  in  this  very  room.  It  occurred  to  me 
that  perhaps  — it  might  be  possible  — in 
short,  Mrs.  Abington,  that  you  might  know 
of  some  way  by  which  the  scoundrel  could 
be  entrapped.” 


266  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“You  compliment  me,  sir.  You  think 
that  the  entrapping  of  unwary  men  — and 
of  wary  — is  what  nature  and  art  have 
fitted  me  for  — nature  and  practice?  ” 

“I  cannot  conceive  a higher  compliment 
being  paid  to  a woman,  dear  madam.  But, 
in  truth,  I came  to  you  because  you  are  the 
only  lady  with  whom  I am  acquainted  who 
with  a kind  heart  combines  the  highest 
intelligence.  That  is  why  you  are  our 
greatest  actress.  The  highest  intelligence 
is  valueless  on  the  stage  unless  it  is  asso- 
ciated with  a heart  that  beats  in  sympathy 
with  the  sorrow  and  becomes  exultant  with 
the  joy  of  others.  That  is  why  I regard 
myself  as  more  than  fortunate  in  having 
your  promise  to  accept  a part  in  my  next 
comedy.” 

Mrs.  Abington  smiled  as  she  saw 
through  the  very  transparent  art  of  the 
author,  reminding  her  that  she  would  have 
her  reward  if  she  helped  him  out  of  his 
difficulty. 

“I  can  understand  how  ladies  look  on 
you  with  great  favour,  sir,”  said  the  actress, 
“Yes,  in  spite  of  your  being  — being  — ah 
— innocent  — a poet,  and  of  possessing 
other  disqualifications,  you  are  a delightful 
man.  Dr.  Goldsmith ; and  by  heaven,  sir,  I 
shall  do  what  I can  to  — to  — well,  shall  we 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  267 

say  to  put  you  in  a position  of  earning*  the 
lady’s  gratitude?  ” 

“That  is  the  position  I long*  for,  dear 
madam.” 

“Yes,  but  only  to  have  the  privileg*e  of 
foreg*oing  your  claim.  I know  you.  Dr. 
Goldsmith.  Well,  supposing  you  come  to 
see  me  here  in  a day  or  two  — that  will  give 
both  of  us  a chance  of  still  further  consider- 
ing the  possibility  of  successfully  entrap- 
ping our  friend  the  Captain.  I believe  it 
was  the  lady  who  suggested  the  trap  to 
you;  you,  being  a man,  were  doubtless  for 
running  your  enemy  through  the  vitals  or 
for  cutting  his  throat  without  the  delay  of  a 
moment.” 

“Your  judgment  is  unerring,  Mrs. 
Abington.” 

“Ah,  you  see,  it  is  the  birds  that  have 
been  in  the  trap  who  know  most  about  it. 
Besides,  does  not  our  dear  dead  friend  Will 
Shakespeare  say,  ‘Some  Cupid  kills  with 
arrows,  some  with  traps  ’ ? ” 

“Those  are  his  words,  madam,  though 
at  this  moment  I cannot  quite  perceive  their 
bearing.” 

“Oh,  lud!  Why,  dear  sir,  Cupid’s 
mother’s  daughters  resemble  their  little 
step-brother  in  being  fond  of  a change  of 
weapons,  and  you,  sir,  I perceive,  have 


268  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

been  the  victim  of  a dart.  Now,  I must 
hasten  to  dress  for  my  part  or  there  will 
be  what  Mr.  Daly  of  Smock  Alley,  Dublin, 
used  to  term  ‘ructions.’  ” 

She  gave  him  her  hand  with  a delightful 
smile  and  hurried  off,  but  not  before  he  had 
bowed  over  her  hand,  imprinting  on  it  a 
clumsy  but  very  effective  kiss. 

He  remained  in  the  theatre  until  the 
close  of  the  performance ; for  he  was  not  so 
utterly  devoid  of  guile  as  not  to  know  that 
if  he  had  departed  without  witnessing  Mrs. 
Abington  in  the  second  piece  she  would 
have  regarded  him  as  far  from  civil.  See- 
ing him  in  a side  box,  however,  that  clever 
lady  perceived  that  he  had  taste  as  well  as 
tact.  She  felt  that  it  was  a pleasure  to  do 
anything  for  such  a man  — especially  as  he 
was  a writer  of  plays.  It  would  be  an  addi- 
tional pleasure  to  her  if  she  could  so  inter- 
pret a character  in  a play  of  his  that  the 
play  should  be  the  most  notable  success  of 
the  season. 

As  Goldsmith  strolled  back  to  his  cham- 
bers he  felt  that  he  had  made  some  prog- 
ress in  the  enterprise  with  which  he  had 
been  entrusted.  He  did  not  feel  elated, 
but  only  tranquilly  confident  that  his  judg- 
ment had  not  been  at  fault  when  it  sug- 
gested to  him  the  propriety  of  consulting 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  269 

with  Mrs.  Abing*ton.  This  was  the  first  time 
that  propriety  and  Mrs.  Abingtoii  were 
associated. 

The  next  day  he  got  a message  that  the 
success  of  his  play  was  consolidated  by  a 
“command”  performance  at  which  the 
whole  of  his  Majesty’s  Court  would  attend. 
This  news  elated  him,  not  only  because  it 
meant  the  complete  success  of  the  play  and 
the  overthrow  of  the  sentimentalists  who 
were  still  harping  upon  the  “low  ’’elements 
of  certain  scenes,  but  also  because  he  ac- 
cepted it  as  an  incident  of  good  augury.  He 
felt  certain  that  Mrs.  Abington  would  have 
discovered  a plan  by  which  he  should  be 
able  to  get  possession  of  the  letters. 

When  he  went  to  her  after  the  lapse  of  a 
few  days,  he  found  that  she  had  not  been 
unmindful  of  his  interests. 

“ The  fellow  had  the  effrontery  to  stand 
beside  my  chair  in  the  Mall  yesterday,” 
said  she,  “but I tolerated  him  — nay,  I en- 
couraged him  — not  for  your  sake,  mind; 
I do  not  want  you  to  fancy  that  you  interest 
me,  but  for  the  sake  of  the  unhappy  girl 
who  was  so  nearly  making  a shocking  fool 
of  herself.  Only  one  girl  interests  me 
more  than  she  who  nearly  makes  a fool  of 
herself,  and  that  is  she  who  actually  makes 
the  fool  of  herself.” 


270  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“Alas!  alas!  the  latter  is  more  widely 
represented  in  this  evil  world,  Mrs.  Abing*- 
ton,”  said  Oliver,  so  gravely  that  the  ac- 
tress roared  with  laughter. 

“You  have  too  fine  a comedy  face  to  be 
sentimental.  Dr.  Goldsmith,”  she  said. 

“ But  to  business.  I tell  you  I even  smiled 
upon  the  gentleman,  for  I have  found  that 
the  traps  which  are  netted  with  silk  are  in- 
variably the  most  effective.”  / 

“ You  have  found  that  by  your  experi- 
ence of  traps?”  said  Goldsmith.  “The 
smile  is  the  silken  net  ? ” 

“Even  so,”  said  she,  giving  an  excel- 
lent example  of  the  fatal  mesh.  “Ah,  Dr. 
Goldsmith,  you  would  do  well  to  avoid  the 
woman  who  smiles  on  you.” 

“Alas!  madam,  the  caution  is  thrown 
away  upon  me ; she  smiles  not  on  me,  but 
at  me.” 

“Thank  heaven  for  that,  sir.  No  harm 
will  come  to  you  through  being  smiled  at. 
How  I stray  from  my  text!  Well,  sir,  the 
wretch,  in  response  to  the  encouragement 
of  my  smile,  had  the  effrontery  to  ask  me 
for  my  private  address,  upon  which  I 
smiled  again.  Ah,  sir,  ’tis  diverting  when 
the  fly  begins  to  lure  on  the  spider.” 

“ ’Tis  vastly  diverting,  madam,  I doubt 
not  — to  the  fly.” 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  271 

“Ay,  and  to  the  friends  of  the  spider.  But 
we  shall  let  that  pass.  Sir,  to  be  brief,  I 
did  not  let  the  g*entleman  know  that  I had  a 
private  address,  but  I invited  him  to  par- 
take of  supper  with  me  on  the  next  Thurs- 
day nig-ht.” 

“Heavens!  madam,  you  do  not  mean  to 
tell  me  that  your  interest  on  my  behalf ” 

“Is  sufficiently  great  to  lead  me  to  sup 
with  a spider?  Sir,  I say  that  I am  only  inter- 
ested in  my  sister-fly  — would  she  be  angry 
if  she  were  to  hear  that  such  a woman  as  I 
even  thought  of  her  as  a sister?” 

There  was  a note  of  pathos  in  the  ques- 
tion, which  did  not  fall  unnoticed  upon  Gold- 
smith’s ear. 

“ Madam,”  said  he,  “ she  is  a Christian 
woman.” 

“Ah,  Dr.  Goldsmith,”  said  the  actress, 
“a  very  small  amount  of  Christian  charity 
is  thought  sufficient  for  the  equipment  of  a 
Christian  woman.  Let  that  pass,  however; 
what  I want  of  you  is  to  join  us  at  supper 
on  Thursday  night.  It  is  to  take  place  in 
the  Shakespeare  tavern  round  the  corner, 
and,  of  course,  in  a private  room ; but  I do 
not  want  you  to  appear  boldly,  as  if  I had 
invited  you  beforehand  to  partake  of  my 
hospitality.  You  must  come  into  the  room 
when  we  have  begun,  carrying  with  you  a 


272  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

roll  of  manuscript,  which  you  must  tell  me 
contains  a scene  of  your  new  comedy,  upon 
which  we  are  daily  in  consultation,  mind 
you.” 

“I  shall  not  fail  to  recollect,”  said  Gold- 
smith. “Why,  ’tis  like  the  arg*ument  of  a 
comedy,  Mrs.  Abington ; I protest  I never 
invented  one  more  elaborate.  I rather  fear 
to  enter  upon  it.” 

“Nay,  you  must  be  in  no  trepidation, 
sir,”  said  the  lady.  “I  think  I know  the 
powers  of  the  various  members  of  the  cast 
of  this  little  drama  of  mine,  so  you  need 
not  think  that  you  will  be  put  into  a part 
which  you  will  not  be  able  to  play  to  per- 
fection.” 

“You  are  giving-  me  a lesson  in  play- 
writing. Pray  continue  the  argument. 
When  I enter  with  the  imaginary  scene  of 
my  new  piece,  you  will,  I trust,  ask  me  to 
remain  to  supper;  you  see  I grudge  the 
gentleman  the  pleasure  of  your  society  for 
even  an  hour.” 

“I  will  ask  you  to  join  us  at  the  table, 
and  then  — well,  then  I have  a notion  that 
between  us  we  should  have  no  great  diffi- 
culty making  our  friend  drink  a sufficient 
quantity  of  wine  to  cause  him  to  make  known 
all  his  secrets  to  us,  even  as  to  where  he 
keeps  those  precious  letters  of  his.” 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  273 

Oliver’s  face  did  not  exhibit  any  expres- 
sion that  the  actress  could  possibly  inter- 
pret as  a flattering  tribute  to  her  ingenuity 
— the  fact  being  that  he  was  greatly  disap- 
pointed at  the  result  of  her  contriving.  Her 
design  was  on  a level  of  ingenuity  with  that 
which  might  occur  to  a romantic  school 
miss.  Of  course  the  idea  upon  which  it  was 
founded  had  formed  the  basis  of  more  than 
one  comedy  — he  had  a notion  that  if  these 
comedies  had  not  been  written  Mrs.  Abing- 
ton’s  scheme  would  not  have  been  so  clearly 
defined. 

She  perceived  the  expression  on  his 
face  and  rightly  interpeted  it. 

“ What,  sir  ! ” she  cried.  “ Do  you  fail 
to  perceive  the  singular  ingenuity  of  my 
scheme  ? Nay,  you  must  remember  that 
’tis  my  first  attempt  — not  at  scheming,  to 
be  sure,  but  at  inventing  a design  for  a 
play.” 

“I  would  not  shrink  from  making  use 
of  your  design  if  I were  writing  a play, 
dear  lady,”  said  he.  “But  then,  you  see, 
it  would  be  in  my  power  to  make  my  villain 
speak  at  the  right  moments  and  hold  his 
peace  at  the  right  moments.  It  would  also 
be  in  my  power  to  make  him  confess  all 
that  was  necessary  for  the  situation.  But 
alas ! madam,  it  makes  me  sometimes  quite 


274  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

hopeless  of  Nature  to  find  how  frequently 
she  disregards  the  most  ordinary  precepts 
of  art.” 

“ Psha  ! sir,”  said  the  actress.  “ Noth- 
ing in  this  world  is  certain.  I am  a poor 
moralist,  but  I recognise  the  fact,  and  make 
it  the  guide  of  my  life.  At  the  same  time  I 
have  noticed  that,  although  one*s  carefully 
arranged  plans  are  daily  thrown  into  ter- 
rible disorder  by  the  slovenliness  of  the 
actors  to  whom  we  assign  certain  parts  and 
certain  dialogue,  yet  in  the  end  nature 
makes  even  a more  satisfactory  drama  out 
of  the  ruins  of  our  schemes  than  we  origin- 
ally designed.  So,  in  this  case,  sir,  I am 
not  without  hope  that  even  though  our 
gentleman’s  lips  remain  sealed  — nay,  even 
though  our  gentleman  remain  sober  — a 
great  calamity  — we  may  still  be  able  to 
accomplish  our  purpose.  You  will  keep 
your  ears  open  and  I shall  keep  my  eyes 
open,  and  it  will  be  strange  if  between  us 
we  cannot  get  the  better  of  so  common- 
place a scoundrel.” 

“I  place  myself  unreservedly  in  your 
hands,  madam,”  said  Oliver; ‘‘and  I can 
only  repeat  what  you  have  said  so  well  — 
namely,  that  even  the  most  clumsy  of  our 
schemes  — which  this  one  of  yours  cer- 
tainly is  not  — may  become  the  basis  of  a 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  275 

most  ing-enious  drama,  designed  and  car- 
ried out  by  that  singularly  adroit  play- 
wright, Destiny.  And  so  I shall  not  fail 
you  on  Thursday  evening.” 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Goldsmith  for  thp  next  few  days  felt 
very  ill  at  ease.  He  had  a consciousness  of 
having  wasted  a good  deal  of  valuable  time 
waiting  upon  Mrs.  Abington  and  discussing 
with  her  the  possibility  of  accomplishing 
the  purpose  which  he  had  at  heart;  for  he 
could  not  but  perceive  how  shallow  was  the 
scheme  which  she  had  devised  for  the  un- 
doing of  Mary  Horneck’s  enemy.  He  felt 
that  it  would,  after  all,  have  been  better  for 
him  to  place  himself  in  the  hands  of  the 
fencing-master  whom  Baretti  had  promised 
to  find  out  for  him,  and  to  do  his  best  to  run 
the  scoundrel  through  the  body,  than  to 
waste  his  time  listening  to  the  crude  scheme 
concocted  by  Mrs.  Abington,  in  close  imita- 
tion of  some  third-class  playwright. 

He  felt,  however,  that  he  had  committed 
himself  to  the  actress  and  her  scheme.  It 
would  be  impossible  for  him  to  draw  back 
after  agreeing  to  join  her  at  supper  on  the 
Thursday  night.  But  this  fact  did  not 
prevent  his  exercising  his  imagination  with 
a view  to  find  out  some  new  plan  for  obtain- 
2?6 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  277 

ing*  possession  of  the  letters.  Thursday 
came,  however,  without  seeing*  him  any 
further  advanced  in  this  direction  than  he 
had  been  when  he  had  first  g*one  to  the 
actress,  and  he  began  to  feel  that  hopeless- 
ness which  takes  the  form  of  hoping  for 
the  intervention  of  some  accident  to  effect 
what  ingenuity  has  failed  to  accomplish* 
Mrs.  Abington  had  suggested  the  possi- 
bility of  such  an  accident  taking  place  — in 
fact,  she  seemed  to  rely  rather  upon  the 
possibility  of  such  an  occurrence  than  upon 
the  ingenuity  of  her  own  scheme;  and 
Oliver  could  not  but  think  that  she  was 
right  in  this  respect.  He  had  a considera- 
ble experience  of  life  and  its  vicissitudes, 
and  he  knew  that  when  destiny  was  in  a 
jesting  mood  the  most  judicious  and  cun- 
ningly devised  scheme  may  be  overturned 
by  an  accident  apparently  no  less  trivial 
than  the  raising  of  a hand,  the  fluttering  of 
a piece  of  lace,  or  the  cry  of  a baby. 

He  had  known  of  a horse’s  casting  a 
shoe  preventing  a runaway  match  and  a 
vast  amount  of  consequent  misery,  and  he 
had  heard  of  a shower  of  rain  causing  a 
confirmed  woman  hater  to  take  shelter  in  a 
doorway,  where  he  met  a young  woman 
who  changed  — for  a time  — all  his  ideas  of 
the  sex.  As  he  recalled  these  and  other 


278  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

freaks  of  fate,  he  could  not  but  feel  that 
Mrs.  Abing*ton  was  fully  justified  in  her 
confidence  in  accident  as  a factor  in  all 
human  problems.  But  he  was  quite  aware 
that  hoping-  for  an  accident  is  only  another 
form  of  despair. 

In  the  course  of  the  day  appointed  by 
Mrs.  Abing-ton  for  her  supper  he  met 
Baretti,  and  reminded  him  of  the  promise 
he  had  made  to  find  an  Italian  fencing*- 
master  and  send  him  to  Brick  Court. 

‘‘  What ! ” cried  Baretti.  “ Have  you 
another  affair  on  your  hands  in  addition 
to  that  in  which  you  have  already  been 
eng-aged?  Psha!  sir.  You  do  not  need  to 
be  a swordsman  in  order  to  flog  a book- 
seller.” 

“ I do  not  look  forward  to  fighting  book- 
sellers,” said  Goldsmith.  “They  have 
stepped  between  me  and  starvation  more 
than  once.” 

“Would  any  one  of  them  have  taken 
that  step  unless  he  was  pretty  certain  to 
make  money  by  his  philanthropy?”  asked 
Baretti  in  his  usual  cynical  way. 

“I  cannot  say,”  replied  Goldsmith.  “ I 
don’t  think  that  I can  lay  claim  to  the  mor- 
tifying reflection  that  I have  enriched  any 
bookseller.  At  any  rate,  I do  not  mean  ever 
to  beat  another.” 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  279 

“ ’Tis,  then,  a critic  whom  you  mean  to 
attack?  If  you  have  made  up  your  mind  to 
kill  a critic,  I shall  make  it  a point  to  find 
you  the  best  swordsman  in  Europe,”  said 
Baretti. 

“Do  so,  my  friend,”  said  Goldsmith; 
and  when  I succeed  in  killing-  a critic,  you 
shall  have  the  first  and  second  fingers  of 
his  right  hand  as  a memento.” 

“I  shall  look  for  them — yes,  in  five 
years,  for  it  will  certainly  take  that  time  to 
make  you  expert  with  a sword,”  said  the 
Italian.  “And,  meantime,  you  may  your- 
self be  cut  to  pieces  by  even  so  indifferent 
a fighter  as  Kenrick.” 

“In  such  a case  I promise  to  bequeath 
to  you  whatever  bones  of  mine  you  may 
take  a fancy  to  have.” 

“And  I shall  regard  them  with  great 
veneration,  being  the  relics  of  a martyr — a 
man  who  did  not  fear  to  fight  with  dragons 
and  other  unclean  beasts.  You  may  look 
for  a visit  from  a skilful  countryman  of 
mine  within  a week;  only  let  me  pray  of 
you  to  be  guided  by  his  advice.  If  he  should 
say  that  it  is  wiser  for  you  to  beware  the 
entrance  to  a quarrel,  as  your  poet  has  it, 
you  will  do  well  to  accept  his  advice.  I do 
not  want  a poet’s  bones  for  my  reliquary, 
though  from  all  that  I can  hear  one  of  our 


280  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

friends  would  have  no  objection  to  a limb 
or  two.” 

“And  who  may  that  friend  be?” 

“You  should  be  able  to  guess,  sir. 
What ! have  you  not  been  negotiating  with 
the  booksellers  for  a life  of  Dr.  Johnson?” 
“Not  I,  sir.  But,  if  I have  been  doing 
so,  what  then?” 

“What  then?  Why,  then  you  may  count 
upon  the  eternal  enmity  of  the  little  Scotch- 
man whom  you  once  described  not  as  a cur 
but  only  a bur.  Sir,  Boswell  robbed  of  his 

Johnson  would  be  worse  than — than ” 

“ A lioness  robbed  of  her  whelps?” 
“Well,  better  say  a she-bear  robbed  of 
her  cubs,  only  that  Johnson  is  the  bear  and 
Boswell  the  cub.  Boswell  has  been  going 
about  saying  that  you  had  boasted  to  him 
of  your  intention  to  become  Johnson’s  bio- 
grapher; and  the  best  of  the  matter  is  that 
Johnson  has  entered  with  great  spirit  into 
the  jest  and  has  kept  his  poor  Bossy  on 
thistles — reminiscent  of  his  native  land — 
ever  since.” 

Goldsmith  laughed,  and  told  Baretti 
how  he  had  occasion  to  get  rid  of  Boswell, 
and  had  done  so  by  pretending  that  he 
meant  to  write  a life  of  Johnson.  Baretti 
laughed  and  went  on  to  describe  how,  on  the 
previous  evening,  Garrick  had  drawn  on 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  281 

Boswell  until  the  latter  had  imitated  all  the 
animals  in  the  farmyard,  while  narrating, 
for  the  thousandth  time,  his  first  appear- 
ance in  the  pit  of  Drury  Lane.  Boswell  had 
felt  quite  flattered,  Baretti  said,  when  Gar- 
rick, making  a judicial  speech,  which  every 
one  present  except  Boswell  perceived  to  he 
a fine  piece  of  comedy,  said  he  felt  con- 
strained to  reverse  the  judgment  of  the 
man  in  the  pit  who  had  shouted:  “ Stick  to 
the  coo,  mon ! ” On  the  whole,  Garrick  said, 
he  thought  that,  while  Boswell’s  imitation 
of  the  cow  was  most  admirable  in  many 
respects,  yet  for  naturalness  it  was  his 
opinion — whatever  it  might  be  worth — that 
the  voice  of  the  ass  was  that  which  Boswell 
was  most  successful  in  attempting. 

Goldsmith  knew  that  even  Garrick’s 
broadest  buffoonery  was  on  occasions  ac- 
cepted by  Boswell  with  all  seriousness,  and 
he  had  no  hesitation  in  believing  Baretti’s 
account  of  the  party  on  the  previous 
evening. 

He  went  to  Mrs.  Abington’s  room  at  the 
theatre  early  in  the  night  to  inquire  if  she 
had  made  any  change  in  her  plans  respect- 
ing the  supper,  and  he  found  that  the  lady 
had  come  to  think  as  poorly  of  the  scheme 
which  she  had  invented  as  he  did.  She  had 
even  abandoned  her  idea  of  inducing  the 


282  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

man  to  confess,  when  in  a state  of  intoxica- 
tion, where  he  was  in  the  habit  of  keeping 
the  letters. 

“These  fellows  are  sometimes  desper- 
ately suspicious  when  in  their  cups,”  said 
she;  “and  I fear  that  at  the  first  hint  of  our 
purpose  he  may  become  dumb,  no  matter 
how  boldly  he  may  have  been  talking  pre- 
viously. If  he  suspects  that  you  have  a 
desire  to  obtain  the  letters,  you  may  say 
farewell  to  the  chance  of  worming  anything 
out  of  him  regarding  them.” 

“ What  then  is  to  be  gained  by  our  sup- 
ping with  him?”  said  Goldsmith. 

“Why,  you  are  brought  into  contact 
with  him,”  she  replied.  “ You  will  then  be 
in  a position,  if  you  cultivate  a friendship 
with  him,  to  take  him  unawares  upon  some 
occasion,  and  so  effect  your  purpose.  Great 
heavens,  sir!  one  cannot  expect  to  take  a 
man  by  storm,  so  to  speak — one  cannot  hope 
to  meet  a clever  scoundrel  for  half  an  hour 
in  the  evening,  and  then  walk  away  with  all 
his  secrets.  You  may  have  to  be  with  this 
fellow  every  day  for  a month  or  two  before 
you  get  a chance  of  putting  the  letters  into 
your  pocket.” 

“I’ll  hope  for  better  luck  than  that,” 
said  Oliver. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  283 

“ Oh,  with  g-ood  luck  one  can  accomplish 
anything*,”  said  she.  “But  good  luck  is 
just  one  of  the  things  that  cannot  be  ar- 
ranged for  even  by  the  cleverest  people.” 

“ That  is  where  men  are  at  a disadvant- 
age in  striving  with  destiny,”  said  Gold- 
smith. “But  I think  that  any  man  who 
succeeds  in  having  Mrs.  Abington  as  his 
ally  must  be  regarded  as  the  most  fortu- 
nate of  his  sex.” 

“Ah,  sir,  wait  for  another  month  before 
you  compliment  me,”  said  she. 

“Madam,”  said  he,  “I  am  not  compli- 
menting you,  but  myself.  I will  take  your 
advice  and  reserve  my  compliments  to  you 
for  — well,  no,  not  a month ; if  I can  put 
them  off  for  a week  I shall  feel  that  I have 
done  very  well.” 

As  he  made  his  bow  and  left  her,  he 
could  not  help  feeling  more  strongly  that 
he  had  greatly  overrated  the  advantages  to 
be  derived  from  an  alliance  with  Mrs.  Ab- 
ington when  his  object  was  to  get  the  bet- 
ter of  an  adroit  scoundrel.  He  had  heard 
— nay,  he  had  written  — of  the  wiles  of 
women,  and  yet  the  first  time  that  he  had 
an  opportunity  of  testing  a woman’s  wiles 
he  found  that  he  had  been  far  too  generous 
in  his  estimate  of  their  value. 


284  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

It  was  with  no  little  trepidation  that  he 
went  to  the  Shakespeare  tavern  at  supper 
time  and  inquired  for  Mrs.  Abington.  He 
had  a roll  of  manuscript  in  his  hand,  accord- 
ing to  agreement,  and  he  desired  the  waiter 
to  inform  the  lady  that  he  would  not  keep 
her  for  long.  He  was  very  fluent  up  to 
this  point ; but  he  was  uncertain  how  he 
would  behave  when  he  found  himself  face 
to  face  with  the  man  who  had  made  the  life 
of  Mary  Horneck  miserable.  He  wondered 
if  he  would  be  able  to  restrain  his  impulse 
to  fly  at  the  scoundrel’s  throat. 

When,  however,  the  waiter  returned 
with  a message  from  Mrs.  Abington  that 
she  would  see  Dr.  Goldsmith  in  the  supper 
room,  and  he  ascended  the  stairs  to  that 
apartment,  he  felt  quite  at  his  ease.  He 
had  nerved  himself  to  play  a part,  and  he 
was  convinced  that  the  r61e  was  not  beyond 
his  powers. 

Mrs.  Abington,  at  the  moment  of  his 
entrance,  was  lying  back  in  her  chair  laugh- 
ing, apparently  at  a story  which  was  being 
told  to  her  by  her  vis-h-vis,  for  he  was  lean-: 
ing  across  the  table,  with  his  elbow  resting 
upon  it  and  one  expressive  finger  upraised 
to  give  emphasis  to  the  points  of  his  nar- 
rative. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  285 

When  Goldsmith  appeared,  the  actress 
nodded  to  him  familiarly,  pleasantly,  but 
did  not  allow  her  attention  to  be  diverted 
from  the  story  which  Captain  Jackson  was 
telling*  to  her.  Goldsmith  paused  with  his 
lingers  still  on  the  handle  of  the  door.  He 
knew  that  the  most  inopportune  entrance 
that  a man  can  make  upon  another  is  when 
the  other  is  in  the  act  of  telling  a story  to 
an  appreciative  audience  — say,  a beautiful 
actress  in  a gown  that  allows  her  neck  and 
shoulders  to  be  seen  to  the  greatest  advan- 
tage and  does  not  interfere  with  the  ebb 
and  flow  of  that  roseate  tide,  with  its  gra- 
cious ripples  and  delicate  wimplings,  rising 
and  falling  between  the  porcelain  of  her 
throat  and  the  curve  of  the  ivory  of  her 
shoulders. 

The  man  did  not  think  it  worth  his 
while  to  turn  around  in  recognition  of  Gold- 
smith’s entrance  ; he  finished  his  story  and 
received  Mrs.  Abington’s  tribute  of  a laugh 
as  a matter  of  course.  Then  he  turned  his 
head  round  as  the  visitor  ventured  to  take 
a step  or  two  toward  the  table,  bowing  pro- 
fusely— rather  too  profusely  for  the  part 
he  was  playing,  the  artistic  perception  of 
the  actress  told  her. 

“ Ha,  my  little  author  ! ” cried  the  man 
at  the  table  with  the  sw^agger  of  a patron. 


286  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“You  are  true  to  the  tradition  of  the  craft 
of  scribblers  — the  best  time  for  putting-  in 
an  appearance  is  when  supper  has  just 
been  served.” 

“Ah,  sir,”  said  Goldsmith,  “we  poor 
devils  are  forced  to  wait  upon  the  conven- 
ience of  our  betters.” 

“Strike  me  dumb,  sir,  if  ’tis  not  a pity 
you  do  not  await  their  convenience  in  an 
ante-room  — ay,  or  the  kitchen.  I have 
heard  that  the  scribe  and  the  cook  usually 
become  the  best  of  friends.  You  poets 
write  best  of  broken  hearts  when  you  are 
sustained  by  broken  victuals.” 

“ For  shame,  Captain  ! ” cried  Mrs  Ab- 
ing-ton.  “Dr.  Goldsmith  is  a man  as  well 
as  a poet.  He  has  broken  heads  before 
now.” 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


Captain  Jackson  laug-hed  heartily  at  so 
quaint  an  idea,  throwing-  himself  back  in 
his  chair  and  pointing  a contemptuous 
thumb  at  Oliver,  who  had  advanced  to  the 
side  of  the  actress,  assuming  the  depreca- 
tory smile  of  the  bookseller’s  hack.  He 
played  the  part  very  indifferently,  the  lady 
perceived. 

“Faith,  my  dear,”  laughed  the  Captain, 
“I  would  fain  believe  that  he  is  a terrible 
person  for  a poet,  for,  by  the  Lord,  he 
nearly  had  his  head  broke  by  me  on  the 
first  night  that  you  went  to  the  Pantheon  ; 
and  I swear  that  I never  crack  a skull 
unless  it  be  that  of  a person  who  is  accus- 
tomed to  spread  terror  around.” 

“Some  poets’  skulls,  sir,  are  not  so 
easily  cracked,”  said  Mrs.  Abington. 

“Nay,  my  dear  madam,”  cried  her  vis^ 
d^visj  “you  must  pardon  me  for  saying  that 
I do  not  think  you  express  your  meaning 
with  any  great  exactness.  I take  it  that 
you  mean,  madam,  that  on  the  well  known 
kitchen  principle  that  cracked  objects  last 

287 


288  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

longer  than  others,  a poet’s  pate,  being 
cracked  originally,  survives  the  assaults 
that  would  overcome  a sound  head.” 

“I  meant  nothing  like  that.  Captain,” 
said  Mrs.  Abington.  Then  she  turned  to 
Goldsmith,  who  stood  by,  fingering  his  roll 
of  manuscript.  “Come,  Dr.  Goldsmith,” 
she  cried,  “seat  yourself  by  me,  and  par- 
take of  supper.  I vow  that  I will  not  even 
glance  at  that  act  of  your  new  play  which  I 
perceive  you  have  brought  to  me,  until  we 
have  supped.” 

“Nay,  madam,”  stuttered  Goldsmith; 
“I  have  already  had  my  humble  meal; 
still ” 

He  glanced  from  the  dishes  on  the  table 
to  Captain  Jackson,  who  gave  a hoarse 
laugh,  crying  — 

“ Ha,  I wondered  if  the  traditions  of  the 
trade  were  about  to  be  violated  by  our  most 
admirable  Doctor.  I thought  it  likely  that 
he  would  allow  himself  to  be  persuaded. 
But  I swear  that  he  has  no  regard  for  the 
romance  which  he  preaches,  or  else  he 
would  not  form  the  third  at  a party.  Has 
he  never  heard  that  the  third  in  a party  is 
the  inevitable  kill- joy  ? ” 

“You  wrong  my  friend  Dr.  Goldsmith, 
Captain,”  said  the  actress  in  smiling  re- 
monstrance that  seemed  to  beg  of  him  to 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  289 

take  an  indulgent  view  of  the  poet’s  weak- 
ness. “You  wrong  him,  sir.  Dr.  Gold- 
smith is  a man  of  parts.  He  is  a wit  as 
well  as  a poet,  and  he  will  not  stay  very 
long;  will  you.  Dr.  Goldsmith?” 

She  acted  the  part  so  well  that  but  for 
the  side  glance  which  she  cast  at  him.  Gold- 
smith might  have  believed  her  to  be  in 
earnest.  For  his  own  part  he  was  acting 
to  perfection  the  r61e  of  the  hack  author  who 
was  patronised  till  he  found  himself  in  the 
gutter.  He  could  only  smile  in  a sickly  way 
as  he  laid  down  his  hat  beside  a chair  over 
which  Jackson’s  cloak  was  flung,  and  placed 
in  it  the  roll  of  manuscript,  preparatory  to 
seating  himself. 

“Madam,  lam  your  servant,”  he  mur- 
mured; “Sir,  I am  your  most  obedient  to 
command.  I feel  the  honour  of  being  per- 
mitted to  sup  in  such  distinguished  com- 
pany.” 

“And  so  you  should,  sir,”  cried  Captain 
Jackson  as  the  waiter  bustled  about,  laying 
a fresh  plate  and  glass,  “so  you  should. 
Your  grand  patrons,  my  little  friend,  though 
they  may  make  a pretence  of  saving  you 
from  slaughter  by  taking  your  quarrel  on 
their  shoulders,  are  not  likely  to  feed  you 
at  their  own  table.  Lord,  how  that  piece 
of  antiquity.  General  Oglethorpe,  swag- 


290  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

gered  across  the  porch  at  the  Pantheon 
when  I had  half  a mind  to  chastise  you  for 
your  clumsiness  in  almost  knocking  me 
over!  May  I die,  sir,  if  I wasn’t  at  the  brink 
of  teaching  the  General  a lesson  which  he 
would  have  remembered  to  his  dying  hour 
— his  dying  hour — that  is  to  say,  for  exactly 
four  minutes  after  I had  drawn  upon  him.” 
“Ah,  Dr.  Goldsmith  is  fortunate  in  his 
friends,”  said  Mrs.  Abington.  “But  I hope 
that  in  future.  Captain,  he  may  reckon  on 
your  sword  being  drawn  on  his  behalf,  and 
not  turned  against  him  and  his  friends.” 
“If  you  are  his  friend,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Abington,  he  may  count  upon  me,  I swear,” 
cried  the  Captain  bowing  over  the  table.” 

“ Good,”  she  said.  “And  so  I call  upon 
you  to  drink  to  his  health  — a bumper,  sir, 
a bumper!” 

The  Captain  showed  no  reluctance  to  pay 
the  suggested  compliment.  With  an  air  of 
joviality  he  filled  his  large  glass  up  to  the 
brim  and  drained  it  with  a good-humoured, 
half -patronising  motion  in  the  direction  of 
Goldsmith. 

“Hang  him!”  he  cried,  when  he  had 
wiped  his  lips,  “I  bear  Goldsmith  no  malice 
for  his  clumsiness  in  the  porch  of  the  Pan- 
theon. “’Sdeath,  madam,  shall  the  man 
who  led  a company  of  his  Maj  esty ’s  regulars 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  291 

in  charge  after  charge  upon  the  American 
rebels,  refuse  to  drink  to  the  health  of  a 
little  man  who  tinkles  out  his  rhymes  as  the 
man  at  the  raree  show  does  his  bells?  Strike 
me  blind,  deaf  and  dumb,  if  I am  not  mag- 
nanimous to  my  heart’s  core.  I ’ll  drink 
his  health  again  if  you  challenge  me.” 

“Nay,  Captain,”  said  the  lady,  “I’ll  be 
magnanimous,  too,  and  refrain  from  chal- 
lenging- you.  I sadly  fear  that  you  have 
been  drinking  too  many  healths  during  the 
day,  sir.” 

“What  mean  you  by  that,  madam?”  he 
cried.  “Do  you  suggest  that  I cannot  carry 
my  liquor  with  the  best  men  at  White’s? 
If  you  were  a man,  and  you  gave  a hint  in 
that  direction,  by  the  Lord,  it  would  be  the 
last  that  you  would  have  a chance  of 
offering.” 

“ Nay,  nay,  sir!  I meant  not  that,”  said 
the  actress  hastily.  “I  will  prove  to  you 
that  I meant  it  not  by  challenging  you  to 
drink  to  Dr.  Goldsmith’s  new  comedy.” 
“Now  you  are  very  much  my  dear,” 
said  Jackson,  half-emptying  the  brandy 
decanter  into  his  glass  and  adding  only  a 
thimbleful  of  water.  “Yes,  your  confi- 
dence in  me  wipes  out  the  previous  affront. 
’Sblood,  madam,  shall  it  be  said  that  Dick 
Jackson,  whose  name  made  the  American 


292  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

rebels  — curse  ’em!  — turn  as  green  as  their 
own  coats  — shall  it  be  said  that  Dick  Jack- 
son,  of  whom  the  rebel  Colonel — Washing- 
ton his  name  is  — George  Washington” — 
he  had  considerable  difficulty  over  the  name 
— “ is  accustomed  to  say  to  this  day,  ‘ Give 
me  a hundred  men  — not  men,  but  lions, 
like  that  devil  Dick  Jackson,  and  I ’ll  sweep 
his  Majesty’s  forces  into  the  Potomac’ — 
shall  it  be  said  that  — that  — what  the  devil 
was  I about  to  say — shall  it  be  said  ? — never 
mind — here ’s  to  the  health  of  Colonel  Wash- 
ington!” 

“Nay,  sir,  we  cannot  drink  to  one  of 
the  King’s  enemies,”  said  Mrs.  Abington, 
rising.  “ ’Twere  scandalous,  indeed,  to  do 
so  in  this  place;  and,  sir,  you  still  wear  the 
King’s  uniform.” 

“The  devil  take  the  King’s  uniform ! ” 
shouted  the  man.  “The  devils  of  rebels 
are  taking  a good  many  coats  of  that  uni- 
form, and  let  me  tell  you,  madam,  that  — 
nay,  you  must  not  leave  the  table  until  the 

toast  is  drank ” Mrs.  Abington  having 

risen,  had  walked  across  the  room  and 
seated  herself  on  the  chair  over  which  Cap- 
tain Jackson  had  flung  his  cloak. 

“Hold,  sir,”  cried  Goldsmith,  dropping 
his  knife  and  fork  with  a clatter  upon  his 
plate  that  made  the  other  man  give  a little 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  293 

jump.  “Hold,  sir,  I perceive  that  you  are 
on  the  side  of  freedom,  and  I would  feel 
honoured  by  your  permission  to  drink  the 
toast  that  you  propose.  Here’s  success  to 
the  cause  that  will  triumph  in  America.” 
Jackson,  who  was  standing-  at  the  table 
with  his  g-lass  in  his  hand,  stared  at  him 
with  the  smile  of  a half-intoxicated  man. 
He  had  just  enough  intelligence  remaining 
to  make  him  aware  that  there  was  some- 
thing ambiguous  in  Goldsmith’s  toast. 

“It  sounds  all  right,”  he  muttered  as  if 
he  were  trying  to  convince  himself  that  his 
suspicions  of  ambiguity  were  groundless. 
“It  sounds  all  right,  and  yet,  strike  me 
dizzy ! if  it  wouldn’t  work  both  ways ! Ha, 
my  little  poet,”  he  continued.  “I  ’m  glad  to 
see  that  you  are  a man.  Drink,  sir  — drink 
to  the  success  of  the  cause  in  America.” 
Goldsmith  got  upon  his  feet  and  raised 
his  glass  — it  contained  only  a light  wine. 

“Success  to  it!”  he  cried,  and  he 
watched  Captain  Jackson  drain  his  third 
tumbler  of  brandy. 

“Hark  ye,  my  little  poet!”  whispered 
the  latter  very  huskily,  lurching  across  the 
table,  and  failing  to  notice  that  his  hostess 
had  not  returned  to  her  place.  “ Hark  ye, 
sir ! Cornwallis  thought  himself  a general 
of  generals.  He  thought  when  he  court- 


294  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

martialled  me  and  turned  me  out  of  the 
regiment,  sending  me  back  to  England  in  a 
foul  hulk  from  Boston  port,  that  he  had  got 
rid  of  me.  He  ’ll  find  out  that  he  was  mis- 
taken, sir,  and  that  one  of  these  days 

Mum ’s  the  word,  mind  you ! If  you  open 
your  lips  to  any  human  being  about  this, 

I ’ll  cut  you  to  pieces.  I ’ll  flay  you  alive ! 
Washington  is  no  better  than  Cornwallis, 
let  me  tell  you.  What  message  did  he  send 
me  when  he  heard  that  I was  ready  to  blow 
Cornwallis’s  brains  out  and  march  my  com- 
pany across  the  Potomac?  I ask  you,  sir, 
man  to  man  — though  a poet  isn’t  quite  a 
man  — but  that  ’s  my  generosity.  Said 
Washy — W ashy — W ishy  — W ashy  — W ash- 
ington:  ‘Cornwallis’s  brains  have  been 

such  valuable  allies  to  the  colonists.  Colonel 
Washington  would  regard  as  his  enemy  any 
man  who  would  make  the  attempt  to  curtail 
their  capacity  for  blundering.’  That ’s  the 
message  I got  from  Washington,  curse  him! 
But  the  Colonel  isn’t  everybody.  Mark  me, 
my  friend  — whatever  your  name  is  — I ’ve 
got  letters  — letters ” 

“Yes,  yes,  you  have  letters  — where?” 
cried  Goldsmith,  in  the  confidential  whisper 
that  the  other  had  assumed. 

The  man  who  was  leaning  across  the 
table  stared  at  him  hazily,  and  then  across 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  295 

his  face  there  came  the  cunning  look  of  the 
more  than  half-intoxicated.  He  straight- 
ened himself  as  well  as  he  could  in  his  chair, 
and  then  swayed  limply  backward  and  for- 
ward, laughing. 

“Letters  — oh,  yes  — plenty  of  letters 
— but  where?  — where?  — that  ’s  my  own 
matter  — a secret,”  he  murmured  in  vague 
tones.  “The  government  would  give  a 
guinea  or  two  for  my  letters  — one  of  them 
came  from  Mount  Vernon  itself,  Mr. — 
whatever  your  name  maybe  — and  if  you 
went  to  Mr.  Secretary  and  said  to  him,  ‘Mr. 
Secretary’”  — he  pronounced  the  word 
“ Secrary  ” — “ ‘ I know  that  Dick  Jackson 
is  a rebel,’  and  Mr.  Secretary  says,  ‘ Where 
are  the  letters  to  prove  it?’  where  would 
you  be,  my  clever  friend?  No,  sir,  my 
brains  are  not  like  Cornwallis’s,  drunk  or 
sober.  Hallo,  where ’s  the  lady  ? ” 

He  seemed  suddenly  to  recollect  where 
he  was.  He  straightened  himself  as  well 
as  he  could,  and  looked  sleepily  across  the 
room. 

“I  am  here,”  cried  Mrs.  Abington,  leav- 
ing the  chair,  across  the  back  of  which 
Jackson’s  coat  was  thrown.  “I  am  here, 
sir  ; but  I protest  I shall  not  take  my  place 
at  the  table  again  while  treason  is  in  the 
air.” 


296  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“ Treason,  madam  ? Who  talks  of  trea- 
son ? ” cried  the  man  with  a lurch  forward 
and  a wave  of  the  hand.  “Madam,  I’m 
shocked  — quite  shocked  ! I wear  the 
King’s  coat,  though  that  cloak  is  my  own  — 
my  own,  and  all  that  it  contains  — all  that 

5) 

His  voice  died  away  in  a drunken  fash- 
ion as  he  stared  across  the  room  at  his 
cloak.  Goldsmith  saw  an  expression  of 
suspicion  come  over  his  face ; he  saw  him 
straighten  himself  and  walk  with  an  affec- 
tation of  steadiness  that  only  emphasised 
his  intoxicated  lurches,  to  the  chair  where 
the  cloak  lay.  He  saw  him  lift  up  the  cloak 
and  run  his  hand  down  the  lining  until  he 
came  to  a pocket.  With  eager  eyes  he  saw 
him  extract  from  the  pocket  a leathern 
wallet,  and  with  a sigh  of  relief  slip  it  fur- 
tively into  the  bosom  of  his  long  waistcoat, 
where,  apparently,  there  was  another 
packet. 

Goldsmith  glanced  toward  Mrs.  Abing- 
ton.  She  was  sitting  leaning  over  her  chair 
with  a finger  on  her  lips,  and  the  same  look 
of  mischief  that  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  trans- 
ferred to  his  picture  of  her  as  “ Miss 
Prue.”  She  gave  a glance  of  smiling  in- 
telligence at  Oliver,  as  Jackson  laughed 
coarsely,  saying  huskily  — 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  297 

“A  handkerchief  — I thoug-ht  I had  left 
my  handkerchief  in  the  pocket  of  my  cloak, 
and  ’tisas  well  to  make  sure  — that’s  my 
motto.  And  now,  my  charmer,  you  will  see 
that  I ’m  not  a man  to  dally  with  treason, 
for  I’ll  challeng*e  you  in  a bumper  to  the 
King’s  most  excellent  Majesty.  Fill  up 
your  glass,  madam  ; fill  up  yours,  too,  Mr. 
— Mr.  Killjoy,  we’ll  call  you,  for  what  the 
devil  made  you  show  your  ugly  face  here 
the  fiend  only  knows.  Mrs.  Baddeley  and 
I are  the  best  of  good  friends.  Isn’t  that 
the  truth,  sweet  Mrs.  Baddeley?  Come, 
drink  to  my  toast  — whatever  it  may  be  — 
or,  by  the  Lord,  I ’ll  run  you  through  the 
vitals ! ” 

Goldsmith  hastened  to  pass  the  man  the 
decanter  with  whatever  brandy  remained 
in  it,  and  in  another  instant  the  decanter 
was  empty  and  the  man’s  glass  was  full. 
Goldsmith  was  on  his  feet  with  uplifted 
glass  before  Jackson  had  managed  to  raise 
himself,  by  the  aid  of  a heavy  hand  on  the 
table,  into  a standing  attitude,  murmuring — 

“Drink,  sir!  drink  to  my  lovely  friend 
there,  the  voluptuous  Mrs.  Baddeley.  My 
dear  Mrs.  Baddeley,  I have  the  honour  to 
welcome  you  to  my  table,  and  to  drink  to 
your  health,  dear  madam.” 


298  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

He  swallowed  the  contents  of  the  tum- 
bler— his  fourth  since  he  had  entered  the 
room  — and  the  next  instant  he  had  fallen 
in  a heap  into  his  chair,  drenched  by  the 
contents  of  Mrs.  Abing-ton’s  glass. 

“That  is  how  I accept  your  toast  of 
Mrs.  Baddeley,  sir,”  she  cried,  standing  at 
the  head  of  the  table  with  the  dripping- 
glass  still  in  her  hand.  “You  drunken  sot ! 
not  to  be  able  to  distinguish  between  me 
and  Sophia  Baddeley  ! I can  stand  the  in- 
sult no  longer.  Take  yourself  out  of  my 
room,  sir ! ” 

She  gave  the  broad  ribbon  of  the  bell 
such  a pull  as  nearly  brought  it  down. 
Goldsmith  having  started  up,  stood  with 
amazement  on  his  face  watching  her,  while 
the  other  man  also  stared  at  her  through 
his  drunken  stupour,  his  jaw  fallen. 

Not  a word  was  spoken  until  the  waiter 
entered  the  room. 

“ Call  a hackney  coach  immediately  for 
that  gentleman,”  said  the  actress,  pointing 
to  the  man  who  alone  remained  — for  the 
best  of  reasons  — seated. 

“ A coach ? Certainly,  madam,”  said  the 
waiter,  withdrawing  with  a bow. 

“Dr.  Goldsmith,” resumed  Mrs.  Abing- 
ton,  “ may  I beg  of  you  to  have  the  good- 
ness to  see  that  person  to  his  lodgings  and 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  299 

to  pay  the  cost  of  the  hackney-coach  ? He 
is  not  entitled  to  that  consideration,  but  I 
have  a wish  to  treat  him  more  generously 
than  he  deserves.  His  address  is  Whet- 
stone Park,  I think  we  may  assume;  and  so 
I leave  you,  sir.” 

She  walked  from  the  room  with  her  chin 
in  the  air,  both  of  the  men  watching  her 
with  such  surprise  as  prevented  either  of 
them  from  uttering  a word.  It  was  only 
when  she  had  gone  that  it  occurred  to  Gold- 
smith that  she  was  acting  her  part  admir- 
ably— that  she  had  set  herself  to  give  him 
an  opportunity  of  obtaining  possession  of 
the  wallet  which  she,  as  well  as  he,  had  seen 
Jackson  transfer  from  the  pocket  of  his 
cloak  to  that  of  his  waistcoat.  Surely  he 
should  have  no  great  difficulty  in  extracting 
the  bundle  from  the  man’s  pocket  when  in 
the  coach. 

“ They  ’re  full  of  their  whimsies,  these 
wenches,”  were  the  first  words  spoken, 
with  a free  wave  of  an  arm,  by  the  man  who 
had  failed  in  his  repeated  attempts  to  lift 
himself  out  of  his  chair.  “ What  did  I say  ? 
— what  did  I do  to  cause  that  spitfire  to 
behave  like  that?  I feel  hurt,  sir,  more 
deeply  hurt  than  I can  express,  at  her  be- 
haviour. What ’s  her  name — I ’m  not  sure 
if  she  was  Mrs.  Abington  or  Mrs.  Badde- 


300  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

ley  ? Anyhow,  she  insulted  me  grossly  — 
me,  sir  — me,  an  officer  who  has  charged 
his  Majesty’s  rebels  in  the  plantations  of 
Virginia,  where  the  Potomac  flows  down 
to  the  sea.  But  they  ’re  all  alike.  I could 
tell  you  a few  stories  about  them,  sir,  that 
would  open  your  eyes,  for  I have  been  their 
darling  always.”  Here  he  began  to  sing  a 
tavern  song  in  a loud  but  husky  tone,  for 
the  brandy  had  done  its  work  very  effect- 
ively, and  he  had  now  reached  what  might 
be  called — somewhat  paradoxically  — the 
high-water  mark  of  intoxication.  He  was 
still  singing  when  the  waiter  re-entered  the 
room  to  announce  that  a hackney  carriage 
was  waiting  at  the  door  of  the  tavern. 

At  the  announcement  the  drunken  man 
made  a grab  for  a decanter  and  flung  it  at 
the  waiter’s  head.  It  missed  that  mark, 
however,  and  crashed  among  the  plates 
which  were  still  on  the  table,  and  in  a mo- 
ment the  landlord  and  a couple  of  his  bar- 
men were  in  the  room  and  on  each  side  of 
Jackson.  He  made  a poor  show  of  resist- 
ance when  they  pinioned  his  arms  and 
pushed  him  down  the  stairs  and  lifted  him 
into  the  hackney-coach.  The  landlord  and 
his  assistants  were  accustomed  to  deal 
with  promptitude  with  such  persons,  and 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  301 

they  had  shut  the  door  of  the  coach  before 
Goldsmith  reached  the  street. 

“Hold  on,  sir,”  he  cried,  “I  am  accom- 
panying* that  g*entleman  to  his  lodg-ing*.” 
“Nay,  Doctor,”  whispered  the  landlord, 
who  was  a friend  of  his,  “the  fellow  is  a 
brawler  — he  will  involve  you  in  a quarrel 
before  you  reach  the  Strand.” 

“Nevertheless,  I will  g*o,  my  friend,” 
said  Oliver.  “The  lady  has  laid  it  upon 
me  as  a duty,  and  I must  obey  her  at  all 
hazards.” 

He  g*ot  into  the  coach,  and  shouted  out 
the  address  to  the  driver. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

The  instant  he  had  seated  himself  he 
found  to  his  amazement  that  the  man  beside 
him  was  fast  asleep.  To  look  at  him  lying 
in  a heap  on  the  cushions  one  might  have 
fancied  that  he  had  been  sleeping  for  hours 
rather  than  minutes,  so  composed  was  he. 
Even  the  jolting  of  the  starting  coach  made 
no  impression  upon  him. 

Goldsmith  perceived  that  the  moment 
for  which  he  had  been  longing  had  arrived. 
He  felt  that  if  he  meant  to  get  the  letters 
into  his  possession  he  must  act  at  once. 

He  passed  his  hand  over  the  man’s 
waistcoat,  and  had  no  difi&culty  in  detecting 
the  exact  whereabouts  of  the  packet  which 
he  coveted.  All  he  had  to  do  was  to  unbut- 
ton the  waistcoat,  thrust  his  hand  into  the 
pocket,  and  then  leave  the  coach  while  it 
was  still  in  motion. 

The  moment  that  he  touched  the  first 
button,  however,  the  man  shifted  his  posi- 
tion, and  awoke,  putting  his  hand,  as  if 
mechanically,  to  his  breast  to  feel  that  the 

wallet  was  still  there.  Then  he  straight- 
302 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  303 

ened  himself  in  some  measure  and  began 
to  mumble,  apparently  being  quite  unaware 
of  the  fact  that  some  one  was  seated  beside 
him. 

“ Dear  madam,  you  do  me  great  honour,” 
he  said,  and  then  gave  a little  hiccupping 
laugh.  “ Great  honour,  I swear;  but  if  you 
were  to  offer  me  all  the  guineas  in  the 
treasure  chest  of  the  regiment  I would  not 
give  you  the  plan  of  the  fort.  No,  madam, 
I am  a man  of  honour,  and  I hold  the  docu- 
ments for  Colonel  Washington.  Oh,  the 
fools  that  girls  are  to  put  pen  to  paper! 
But  if  she  was  a fool  she  did  not  write  the 
letters  to  a fool.  Oh,  no,  no ! I would  accept 
no  price  for  them  — no  price  whatever 
except  your  own  fair  self.  Come  to  me,  my 
charmer,  at  sunset,  and  they  shall  be  yours ; 
yes,  with  a hundred  guineas,  or  I print  them. 
Oh,  Ned,  my  lad,  there ’s  no  honester  way 
of  living  than  by  selling  a wench  her  own 
letters.  No,  no;  Ned,  I’ll  not  leave  ’em 
behind  me  in  the  drawer,  in  case  of  acci- 
dents. I ’ll  carry  ’em  about  with  me  in  case 
of  accidents,  for  I know  how  sharp  you  are, 
dear  Ned;  and  so  when  I had  ’em  in  the 
pocket  of  my  cloak  I thought  it  as  well  to 
transfer  ’em — in  case  of  accidents,  Ned — 
to  my  waistcoat,  sir.  Ay,  they  ’re  here ! 
here,  my  friend!  and  here  they’ll  stay  till 


304  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

Colonel  Washing-ton  hands  me  over  his 
dollars  for  them.” 

Then  he  slapped  his  breast,  and  laughed 
the  horrible  laugh  of  a drunken  man  whose 
hallucination  is  that  he  is  the  shrewdest 
fellow  alive. 

Goldsmith  caught  every  word  of  his 
mumblings,  and  from  the  way  he  referred 
to  the  letters,  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  scoundrel  had  not  only  tried  to  levy 
blackmail  on  Mary  Horneck,  but  had  been 
endeavouring  to  sell  the  secrets  of  the 
King’s  forces  to  the  American  rebels.  Gold- 
smith had,  however,  no  doubt  that  the  let- 
ters which  he  was  desirous  of  getting  into 
his  hands  were  those  which  the  man  had 
within  his  waistcoat.  His  belief  in  this 
direction  did  not,  however,  assist  him  to 
devise  a plan  for  transferring  the  letters 
from  the  place  where  they  reposed  to  his 
own  pocket. 

The  coach  jolted  over  the  uneven  roads 
on  its  way  to  the  notorious  Whetstone  Park, 
but  all  the  jolting  failed  to  prevent  the 
operation  of  the  brandy  which  the  man  had 
drank,  for  once  again  he  fell  asleep,  his 
fingers  remaining  between  the  buttons  of 
his  waistcoat,  so  that  it  would  be  quite 
impossible  for  even  the  most  adroit  pick- 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  305 

pocket,  which  Goldsmith  could  not  claim  to 
be,  to  open  the  g*arment. 

He  felt  the  vexation  of  the  moment  very 
keenly.  The  thought  that  the  packet  which 
he  coveted  Was  only  a few  inches  from  his 
hand,  and  yet  that  it  was  as  unattainable 
as  though  it  were  at  the  summit  of  Mont 
Blanc,  was  maddening;  but  he  felt  that  he 
would  be  foolish  to  make  any  more  attempts 
to  effect  his  purpose.  The  man  would  be 
certain  to  awake,  and  Goldsmith  knew  that, 
intoxicated  though  he  was,  he  was  strong 
enough  to  cope  with  three  men  of  his 
(Goldsmith’s)  physique. 

Gregory’s  Court,  which  led  into  Whet- 
stone Park,  was  too  narrow  to  admit  so 
broad  a vehicle  as  a hackney-coach,  so  the 
driver  pulled  up  at  the  entrance  in  Holborn 
near  the  New  Turnstile,  just  under  an  ale- 
house lamp.  Goldsmith  was  wondering  if 
his  obligation  to  Mrs.  Abington’s  guest  did 
not  end  here,  when  the  light  of  the  lamp 
showed  the  man  to  be  wide  awake,  and  he 
really  seemed  comparatively  sober.  It  was 
only  when  he  spoke  that  he  showed  himself, 
by  the  huskiness  of  his  voice,  to  be  very  far 
from  sober. 

“Good  Lord ! ” he  cried,  “how  do  I come 
to  be  here?  Who  the  devil  may  you  be, 
sirrah?  Oh,  I remember!  You  ’r^  the 


306  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

poet.  She  insulted  me  — grossly  insulted 
me  — turned  me  out  of  the  tavern.  And 
you  insulted  me,  too,  you  rascal,  coming 
with  me  in  my  coach,  as  if  I was  drunk,  and 
needed  you  to  look  after  me.  Get  out,  you 
scoundrel,  or  I ’ll  crack  your  skull  for  you. 
Can’t  you  see  that  this  is  Gregory’s  Court?” 

Goldsmith  eyed  the  ruf&an  for  a moment. 
He  was  debating  if  it  might  not  be  better 
to  spring  upon  him,  and  make  at  least  a 
straightforward  attempt  to  obtain  the  wal- 
let. The  result  of  his  moment’s  considera- 
tion of  the  question  was  to  cause  him  to 
turn  away  from  the  fellov/  and  open  the 
door.  He  was  in  the  act  of  telling  the  driver 
that  he  would  take  the  coach  on  to  the 
Temple,  when  Jackson  stepped  out,  shaking 
the  vehicle  on  its  leathern  straps,  and  stag- 
gered a few  yards  in  the  direction  of  the 
turnstile.  At  the  same  instant  a man 
hastily  emerged  from  the  entrance  to  the 
court,  almost  coming  in  collision  with  Jack- 
son. 

“You  cursed,  clumsy  lout!”  shouted 
the  latter,  swinging  half-way  round  as  the 
man  passed.  In  a second  the  stranger 
stopped,  and  faced  the  other. 

“You  low  ruffian!”  he  said.  “You 
cheated  me  last  night,  and  left  me  to  sleep 
in  the  fields;  but  my  money  came  to  me 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  307 

to-day,  and  I ’ve  been  waiting*  for  you. 
Take  that,  you  scoundrel  — and  that  — and 
that ” 

He  struck  Jackson  a blow  to  rig*ht  and 
left,  and  then  one  straig*ht  on  the  forehead, 
which  felled  him  to  the  g*round.  He  g-ave 
the  man  a kick  when  he  fell,  and  then  turned 
about  and  ran,  for  the  watchman  was  com- 
ing up  the  street,  and  half  a dozen  of  the 
passers-by  gave  an  alarm. 

Goldsmith  shouted  out,  “Follow  him  — 
follow  the  murderer!”  pointing  wildly  in 
the  direction  taken  by  the  stranger. 

In  another  instant  he  was  leaning  over 
the  prostrate  man,  and  making  a pretence 
to  feel  his  heart.  He  tore  open  his  waist- 
coat. Putting  in  his  hand,  he  quickly  ab- 
stracted the  wallet,  and  bending  right  over 
the  body  in  order  to  put  his  hand  to  the 
man’s  chest,  he,  with  much  more  adroitness 
than  was  necessary  — for  outside  the  sickly 
gleam  of  the  lamp  all  the  street  was  in  dark- 
ness— slipped  the  wallet  into  his  other 
hand  and  then  under  his  coat. 

A few  people  had  by  this  time  been 
drawn  to  the  spot  by  the  alarm  which  had 
been  given,  and  some  inquired  if  the  man 
were  dead,  and  if  he  had  been  run  through 
with  a sword. 


308  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“It  was  a knock-down  blow,”  said  Gold- 
smith, still  leaning*  over  the  prostrate  man; 
“and  being  a doctor,  I can  honestly  say  that 
no  great  harm  has  been  done.  The  fellow 
is  as  drunk  as  if  he  had  been  soused  in  a 
beer  barrel.  A dash  of  water  in  his  face 
will  go  far  to  bring  about  his  recovery. 
Ah,  he  is  recovering  already.” 

He  had  scarcely  spoken  before  he  felt 
himself  thrown  violently  back,  almost 
knocking  down  two  of  the  bystanders,  for 
the  man  had  risen  to  a sitting  posture,  ask- 
ing him,  with  an  oath,  as  he  flung  him  back, 
what  he  meant  by  choking  him. 

A roar  of  laughter  came  from  the  people 
in  the  street  as  Goldsmith  picked  up  his  hat 
and  straightened  his  sword,  saying  — 

“ Gentlemen,  I think  that  a man  who  is 
strong  enough  to  treat  his  physician  in  that 
way  has  small  need  of  his  services.  I 
thought  the  fellow  might  be  seriously  hurt, 
but  I have  changed  my  mind  on  that  point 
recently;  and  so  good-night.  Souse  him 
copiously  with  water  should  he  relapse. 
By  a casual  savour  of  him  I should  say  that 
he  is  not  used-  to  water.” 

He  re-entered  the  coach  and  told  the 
driver  to  proceed  to  the  Temple,  and  as 
rapidly  as  possible,  for  he  was  afraid  that 
the  man,  on  completely  recovering  from 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  309 

the  effects  of  the  blow  that  had  stunned 
him,  would  miss  his  wallet  and  endeavour 
to  overtake  the  coach.  He  was  greatly 
relieved  when  he  reached  the  lodge  of  his 
friend  Ginger,  the  head  porter,  and  he  paid 
the  driver  with  a liberality  that  called  down 
upon  him  a torrent  of  thanks. 

As  he  went  up  the  stairs  to  his  cham- 
bers he  could  scarcely  refrain  from  cheer- 
ing. In  his  hand  he  carried  the  leathern 
wallet,  and  he  had  no  doubt  that  it  con- 
tained the  letters  which  he  hoped  to  place 
in  the  hands  of  his  dear  Jessamy  Bride, 
who,  he  felt,  had  alone  understood  him  — 
had  alone  trusted  him  with  the  discharge  of 
a knightly  task. 

He  closed  his  oaken  outer  door  and 
forced  up  the  wick  of  the  lamp  in  his  room. 
With  trembling  fingers  by  the  light  of  its 
rays  he  unclasped  the  wallet  and  extracted 
its  contents.  He  devoured  the  pages  with 
his  eyes,  and  then  both  wallet  and  papers 
fell  from  his  hands.  He  dropped  into  a 
chair  with  an  exclamation  of  wonder  and 
dismay.  The  papers  which  he  had  taken 
from  the  wallet  were  those  which,  following 
the  instructions  of  Mrs.  Abington,  he  had 
brought  with  him  to  the  tavern,  pretend- 
ing that  they  were  the  act  of  the  comedy 
which  he  had  to  read  to  the  actress! 


310  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

He  remained  for  a long  time  in  the  chair 
into  which  he  had  fallen.  He  was  utterly 
stupefied.  Apart  from  the  shock  of  his 
disappointment,  the  occurrence  was  so 
mysterious  as  to  deprive  him  of  the  power 
of  thought.  He  could  only  gaze  blankly 
down  at  the  empty  wallet  and  the  papers, 
covered  with  his  own  handwriting,  which 
he  had  picked  up  from  his  own  desk  before 
starting  for  the  tavern. 

What  did  it  all  mean?  How  on  earth 
had  those  papers  found  their  way  into  the 
wallet? 

Those  were  the  questions  which  he  had 
to  face,  but  for  which,  after  an  hour’s  con- 
sideration, he  failed  to  find  an  answer. 

He  recollected  distinctly  having  seen 
the  expression  of  suspicion  come  over  the 
man’s  face  when  he  saw  Mrs.  Abington 
sitting  on  the  chair  over  which  his  cloak 
was  hanging;  and  when  she  had  returned 
to  the  table,  Jackson  had  staggered  to  the 
cloak,  and  running  his  hand  down  the  lining 
until  he  had  found  the  pocket,  furtively  took 
from  it  the  wallet,  which  he  transferred  to 
the  pocket  on  the  inner  side  of  his  waist- 
coat. He  had  had  no  time  — at  least,  so 
Goldsmith  thought  — to  put  the  sham  act 
of  the  play  into  the  wallet ; and  yet  he  felt 
that  the  man  must  have  done  so  unseen  by 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  311 

the  others  in  the  room,  or  how  could  the 
papers  ever  have  been  in  the  wallet? 

Great  heavens!  The  man  must  only  have 
been  shamming*  intoxication  the  greater 
part  of  the  night!  He  must  have  had  so 
wide  an  experience  of  the  craft  of  men  and 
the  wiles  of  women  as  caused  him  to  live  in 
a condition  of  constant  suspicion  of  both 
men  and  women.  He  had  clearly  suspected 
Mrs.  Abington’s  invitation  to  supper,  and 
had  amused  himself  at  the  expense  of  the 
actress  and  her  other  guest.  He  had  led 
them  both  on,  and  had  fooled  them  to  the 
top  of  his  bent,  just  when  they  were  fancy- 
ing that  they  were  entrapping  him. 

Goldsmith  felt  that,  indeed,  he  at  least 
had  been  a fool,  and,  as  usual,  he  had 
attained  the  summit  of  his  foolishness  just 
when  he  fancied  he  was  showing  himself  to 
be  especially  astute.  He  had  chuckled 
over  his  shrewdness  in  placing  himself  in 
the  hands  of  a woman  to  the  intent  that  he 
might  defeat  the  ends  of  the  scoundrel  who 
threatened  Mary  Horneck’s  happiness,  but 
now  it  was  Jackson  who  was  chuckling  — 
Jackson,  who  had  doubtless  been  watching 
with  amused  interest  the  childish  attempts 
made  by  Mrs.  Abington  to  entrap  him. 

How  glibly  she  had  talked  of  entrapping 
him!  She  had  even  gone  the  length  of 


312  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

quoting*  Shakespeare ; she  was  one  of  those 
people  who  fancy  that  when  they  have 
quoted  Shakespeare  they  have  said  the  last 
word  on  any  subject.  But  when  the  time 
came  for  her  to  cease  talking  and  begin  to 
act,  she  had  failed.  She  had  proved  to  him 
that  he  had  been  a fool  to  place  himself  in 
her  hands,  hoping  she  would  be  able  to 
help  him. 

He  laughed  bitterly  at  his  own  folly. 
The  consciousness  of  having  failed  would 
have  been  bitter  enough  by  itself,  but  now 
to  it 'was  added  the  consciousness  of  having 
been  laughed  at  by  the  man  of  whom  he 
was  trying  to  get  the  better. 

What  was  there  now  left  for  him  to  do? 
J^Jothing  except  to  go  to  Mary,  and  tell  her 
that  she  had  been  wrong  in  entrusting  her 
cause  to  him.  She  should  have  entrusted  it 
to  Colonel  Gwyn,  or  some  man  who  would 
have  been  ready  to  help  her  and  capable  of 
helping  her  — some  man  with  a knowledge 
of  men  — some  man  of  resource,  not  one 
who  was  a mere  weaver  of  fictions,  who  was 
incapable  of  dealing  with  men  except  on 
paper.  Nothing  was  left  for  him  but  to  tell 
her  this,  and  to  see  Colonel  Gwyn  achieve 
success  where  he  had  achieved  only  the 
most  miserable  of  failures. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  313 

He  felt  that  he  was  as  foolish  as  a man 
who  had  built  for  himself  a house  of  cards, 
and  had  hoped  to  dwell  in  it  happily  for  the 
rest  of  his  life,  whereas  the  fabric  had  not 
survived  the  breath  of  the  first  breeze  that 
had  swept  down  upon  it. 

He  felt  that,  after  the  example  which  he 
had  just  had  of  the  diabolical  cunning-  of 
the  man  with  whom  he  had  been  contesting*, 
it  would  be  worse  than  useless  for  him  to 
hope  to  be  of  any  help  to  Mary  Horneck. 
He  had  already  wasted  more  than  a week  of 
valuable  time.  He  could,  at  least,  prevent 
any  more  being*  wasted  by  g’oing*  to  Mary 
and  telling*  her  how  g*reat  a mistake  she  had 
made  in  being*  over-g*enerous  to  him.  She 
should  never  have  made  such  a friend  of 
him.  Dr.  Johnson  had  been  right  when  he 
said  that  he,  Oliver  Goldsmith,  had  taken 
advantage  of  the  gracious  generosity  of  the 
girl  and  her  family.  He  felt  that  it  was  his 
vanity  that  had  led  him  to  undertake  on 
Mary’s  behalf  a task  for  which  he  was  ut- 
terly unsuited ; and  only  the  smallest  con- 
solation was  allowed  to  him  in  the  reflection 
that  his  awakening  had  come  before  it  was 
too  late.  He  had  not  been  led  away  to  con- 
fess to  Mary  all  that  was  in  his  heart.  She 
had  been  saved  the  unhappiness  which  that 
confession  would  bring  to  a nature  so  full 


314  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

of  feeling-  as  hers.  And  he  had  been  saved 
the  mortification  of  the  thoug-ht  that  he  had 
caused  her  pain. 

The  dawn  was  embroidering-  with  its 
floss  the  early  foliage  of  the  trees  of  the 
Temple  before  he  went  to  his  bed-room, 
and  another  hour  had  passed  before  he  fell 
asleep. 

He  did  not  awake  until  the  clock  had 
chimed  the  hour  of  ten,  and  he  found  that 
his  man  had  already  brought  to  the  table  at 
his  bedside  the  letters  which  had  come  for 
him  in  the  morning.  He  turned  them  over 
with  but  a languid  amount  of  interest. 
There  was  a letter  from  Griffiths,  the  book- 
seller; another  from  Garrick,  relative  to  the 
play  which  Goldsmith  had  promised  him;  a 
third,  a fourth  and  a fifth  were  from  men 
who  begged  the  loan  of  varying  sums  for 
varying  periods.  The  sixth  was  apparently, 
from  its  shape  and  bulk,  a manuscript  — 
one  of  the  many  which  were  submitted  to 
him  by  men  who  called  him  their  brother- 
poet.  He  turned  it  over,  and  perceived  that 
it  had  not  come  through  the  post.  That 
fact  convinced  him  that  it  was  a manuscript, 
most  probably  an  epic  poem,  or  perhaps  a 
tragedy  in  verse,  which  the  writer  might 
think  he  could  get  accepted  at  Drury  Lane 
by  reason  of  his  friendship  with  Garrick. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRID.E  315 

He  let  this  parcel  lie  on  the  table  until  he 
had  dressed,  and  only  when  at  the  point  of 
sitting-  down  to  breakfast  did  he  break  the 
seals.  The  instant  he  had  done  so  he  g*ave 
a cry  of  surprise,  for  he  found  that  the 
parcel  contained  a number  of  letters  ad- 
dressed in  Mary  Horneck’s  handwriting  to 
a certain  Captain  Jackson  at  a house  in  the 
Devonshire  village  where  she  had  been  stay- 
ing the  previous  summer. 

On  the  topmost  letter  there  was  a scrap 
of  paper,  bearing  a scrawl  from  Mrs.  Abing- 
ton  — the  spelling  as  well  as  the  writing 
washers  — 

“‘Some  Cupid  kills  with  arrows,  some 
with  traps.’  These  are  a few  feathers 
pluckt  from  our  hawke,  hoping  that  they 
will  be  a feather  in  the  capp  of  dear  Dr. 
Goldsmith.” 


CHAPTER  XXVL 


He  was  so  greatly  amazed  he  could  only 
sit  looking  mutely  at  the  scattered  letters 
on  the  table  in  front  of  him.  He  was  even 
more  amazed  at  finding  them  there  than  he 
had  been  the  night  before  at  not  finding 
them  in  the  wallet  which  he  had  taken  from 
Jackson’s  w^aistcoat.  He  thought  he  had 
arrived  at  a satisfactory  explanation  as  to 
how  he  had  come  to  find  within  the  wallet 
the  sheets  of  manuscript  which  he  had  had 
in  his  hand  on  entering  the  supper  room; 
but  how  was  he  to  account  for  the  appear- 
ance of  the  letters  in  this  parcel  which  he 
had  received  from  Mrs.  Abington? 

So  perplexed  was  he  that  he  failed  for 
sometime  to  grasp  the  truth  — to  appre- 
ciate what  was  meant  by  the  appearance  of 
those  letters  on  his  table.  But  so  soon  as 
it  dawned  upon  him  that  they  meant  safety 
and  happiness  to  Mary,  he  sprang  from  his 
seat  and  almost  shouted  for  joy.  She  was 
saved.  He  had  checkmated  the  villain  who 
had  sought  her  ruin  and  who  had  the  means 
to  accomplish  it,  too.  It  was  his  astute- 

316 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  317 

ness  that  had  caused  him  to  g*o  to  Mrs. 
Abingtoii  and  ask  for  her  help  in  accom- 
plishing the  task  with  which  he  had  been 
entrusted.  He  had,  after  all,  not  been  mis- 
taken in  applying  to  a woman  to  help  him 
to  defeat  the  devilish  scheme  of  a pitiless 
ruffian,  and  Mary  Horneck  had  not  been 
mistaken  when  she  had  singled  him  out  to 
be  her  champion,  though  all  men  and  most 
women  would  have  ridiculed  the  idea  of  his 
assuming  the  rdle  of  a knight-errant. 

His  elation  at  that  moment  was  in  pro- 
portion to  his  depression,  his  despair,  his 
humiliation  when  he  had  last  been  in  his 
room.  His  nature  knew  nothing  but  ex- 
tremes. Before  retiring  to  his  chamber  in 
the  early  morning,  he  had  felt  that  life  con- 
tained nothing  but  misery  for  him;  but  now 
he  felt  that  a future  of  happiness  was  in 
store  for  him — his  imagination  failed  to 
set  any  limits  to  the  possibility  of  his  fu- 
ture happiness.  He  laughed  at  the  thought 
of  how  he  had  resolved  to  go  to  Mary  and 
advise  her  to  intrust  her  cause  to  Colonel 
Gwyn.  The  thought  of  Colonel  Gwyn  con- 
vulsed him  just  now.  With  all  his  means, 
could  Colonel  Gwyn  have  accomplished  all 
that  he,  Oliver  Goldsmith,  had  accom- 
plished ? 


318  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

He  doubted  it.  Colonel  Gwyn  might  be 
a good  sort  of  fellow  in  spite  of  his  formal 
manner,  his  army  training,  and  his  inca- 
pacity to  see  a jest,  but  it  was  doubtful  if 
he  could  have  brought  to  a successful  con- 
clusion so  delicate  an  enterprise  as  that 
which  he  — Goldsmith  — had  accomplished. 
Gwyn  would  most  likely  have  scorned  to 
apply  to  Mrs.  Abington  to  help  him,  and 
that  was  just  where  he  would  have  made  a 
huge  mistake.  Any  man  who  thought  to 
get  the  better  of  the  devil  without  the  aid 
of  a woman  was  a fool.  He  felt  more 
strongly  convinced  of  the  truth  of  this  as 
he  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire  in  his 
grate  than  he  had  been  when  he  had  found 
the  wallet  containing  only  his  own  manu- 
script. The  previous  half-hour  had  natur- 
ally changed  his  views  of  man  and  woman 
and  Providence  and  the  world. 

When  he  had  picked  up  the  letters  and 
locked  them  in  his  desk,  he  ate  some  break- 
fast, wondering  all  the  while  by  what 
means  Mrs.  Abington  had  obtained  those 
precious  writings;  and  after  giving  the 
matter  an  hour’s  thought,  he  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  she  must  have  felt  the  wal- 
let in  the  pocket  of  the  man’s  cloak  when 
she  had  left  the  table  pretending  to  be 
shocked  at  the  disloyal  expressions  of  her 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  3l9 

guest  — she  must  have  felt  the  wallet  and 
have  contrived  to  extract  the  letters  from 
it,  substituting  for  them  the  sham  act  of 
the  play  which  excused  his  entrance  to  the 
supper-room. 

The  more  he  thought  over  the  matter, 
the  more  convinced  he  became  that  the 
wily  lady  had  effected  her  purpose  in  the 
way  he  conjectured.  He  recollected  that 
she  had  been  for  a considerable  time  on  the 
chair  with  the  cloak  — much  longer  than 
was  necessary  for  Jackson  to  drink  the 
treasonable  toast;  and  when  she  returned 
to  the  table,  it  was  only  to  turn  him  out  of 
the  room  upon  a very  shallow  pretext. 
What  a fool  he  had  been  to  fancy  that  she 
was  in  a genuine  passion  when  she  had  flung 
her  glass  of  wine  in  the  face  of  her  guest 
because  he  had  addressed  her  as  Mrs.  Bad- 
deley ! 

He  had  been  amazed  at  the  anger  dis- 
played by  her  in  regard  to  that  particular 
incident,  but  later  he  had  thought  it  possi- 
ble that  she  had  acted  the  part  of  a jealous 
woman  to  give  him  a better  chance  of  get- 
ting the  wallet  out  of  the  man’s  waistcoat 
pocket.  Now,  however,  he  clearly  per- 
ceived that  her  anxiety  was  to  get  out  of 
the  room  in  order  to  place  the  letters  be- 
yond the  man’s  hands. 


320  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

Once  ag^ain  he  laughed,  saying  out  loud — 

“ Ah,  I was  right  — a woman’s  wiles 
only  are  superior  to  the  strategy  of  a 
devil ! ” 

Then  he  became  more  contemplative. 
The  most  joyful  hour  of  his  life  was  at 
hand.  He  asked  himself  how  his  dear 
Jessamy  Bride  would  receive  the  letters 
which  he  was  about  to  take  to  her.  He  did 
not  think  of  himself  in  connection  with  her 
gratitude.  He  left  himself  altogether  out 
of  consideration  in  this  matter.  He  only 
thought  of  how  the  girl’s  face  would  lighten 
— how  the  white  roses  which  he  had  last 
seen  on  her  cheeks  would  change  to  red 
when  he  put  the  letters  into  her  hand,  and 
she  felt  that  she  was  safe. 

That  was  the  reward  for  which  he 
looked.  He  knew  that  he  would  feel  bit- 
terly disappointed  if  he  failed  to  see  the 
change  of  the  roses  on  her  face  — if  he 
failed  to  hear  her  fill  the  air  with  the  music 
of  her  laughter.  And  then  — then  she 
would  be  happy  for  evermore,  and  he  would 
be  happy  through  witnessing  her  happi- 
ness. 

He  finished  dressing,  and  was  in  the  act 
of  going  to  his  desk  for  the  letters,  which 
he  hoped  she  would  soon  hold  in  her  hand, 
when  his  servant  announced  two  visitors. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  321 

Signor  Baretti,  accompanied  by  a tall  and 
very  thin  man,  entered.  The  former 
greeted  Goldsmith,  and  introduced  his 
friend,  who  was  a compatriot  of  his  own, 
named  Nicolo. 

“I  have  not  forgotten  the  matter  which 
you  honoured  me  by  placing  in  my  hands,” 
said  Baretti.  “My  friend  Nicolo  is  a 
master  of  the  art  of  fencing  as  practised  in 
Italy  in  the  present  day.  He  is  under  the 
impression,  singular  though  it  may  seem, 
that  he  spoke  to  you  more  than  once  during 
your  wanderings  in  Tuscany.” 

“And  now  I am  sure  of  it,”  said  Nicolo 
in  French.  He  explained  that  he  spoke 
French  rather  better  than  English.  “Yes, 
I was  a student  at  Pisa  when  Dr.  Gold- 
smith visited  that  city.  I have  no  diffi- 
culty in  recognising  him.” 

“And  I,  for  my  part,  have  a conviction 
that  I have  seen  your  face,  sir,”  said  Gold- 
smith, also  speaking  in  French  ; “I  cannot, 
however,  recall  the  circumstances  of  our 
first  meeting.  Can  you  supply  the  defi- 
ciency in  my  memory,  sir  ? ” 

“There  was  a students’  society  that 
met  at  the  Boccaleone,”  said  Signor  Nicolo. 

“I  recollect  it  distinctly;  Figli  della 
Torre,  you  called  yourselves,”  said  Gold- 
smith quickly.  “ You  were  one  of  the 


322  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

orators  — quite  reckless,  if  you  will  permit 
me  to  say  so  much.” 

The  man  smiled  somewhat  grimly. 

“If  he  had  not  been  utterly  reckless  he 
would  not  be  in  England  to-day,”  said 
Baretti.  “Like  myself,  he  is  compelled  to 
face  your  detestable  climate  on  account  of 
some  indiscreet  references  to  the  Italian 
government,  which  he  would  certainly 
repeat  to-morrow  were  he  back  again.” 

“It  brings  me  back  to  Tuscany  once 
more,  to  see  your  face.  Signor  Nicolo,”said 
Goldsmith.  “ Yes,  though  your  Excel- 
lency had  not  so  much  of  a beard  and  mus- 
tacio  when  I saw  you  some  years  ago.” 
“Nay,  sir,  nor  was  your  Lordship’s 
coat  quite  so  admirable  then  as  it  is  now,  if 
I am  not  too  bold  to  make  so  free  a com- 
ment, sir,”  said  the  man  with  another  grim 
smile. 

“You  are  not  quite  right,  my  friend,” 
laughed  Goldsmith;  “for  if  my  memory 
serves  me  — and  it  does  so  usually  on  the 
matter  of  dress  — I had  no  coat  whatsoever 
to  my  back  — that  was  of  no  importance  in 
Pisa,  where  the  air  was  full  of  patriotism.” 
“ The  most  dangerous  epidemic  that 
could  occur  in  any  country,”  said  Baretti. 
“ There  is  no  Black  Death  that  has  claimed 
so  many  victims.  We  are  examples  — 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  323 

Nicolo  and  I.  I am  compelled  to  teach 
Italian  to  a brewer’s  daughter,  and  Nicolo 
is  willing  to  transform  the  most  clumsy 
Englishman — and  there  area  good  number 
of  them,  too  — into  an  expert  swordsman  in 
twelve  lessons  — yes,  if  the  pupil  will  but 
practise  sufficiently  afterwards.” 

“We  heed  not  talk  of  business  just 
now,”  said  Goldsmith.  “ I insist  on  my  old 
friends  sharing  a bottle  of  wine  with  me.  I 
shall  drink  to  ‘patriotism,’  since  it  is  the 
means  of  sending  to  my  poor  room  two  such 
excellent  friends  as  the  Signori  Baretti  and 
Nicolo.” 

He  rang  the  bell,  and  gave  his  servant 
directions  to  fetch  a couple  of  bottles  of  the 
old  Madeira  which  Lord  Clare  had  recently 
sent  to  him  — very  recently,  otherwise 
three  bottles  out  of  the  dozen  would  not 
have  remained. 

The  wine  had  scarcely  been  uncorked 
when  the  sound  of  a man’s  step  was  heard 
upon  the  stairs,  and  in  a moment  Captain 
Jackson  burst  into  the  room. 

“I  have  found  you,  you  rascal!”  he 
shouted,  swaggering  across  the  room  to 
where  Goldsmith  was  seated.  “Now,  my 
good  fellow,  I give  you  just  one  minute  to 
restore  to  me  those  letters  which  you  ab- 
stracted from  my  pocket  last  night.” 


324  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“And  I give  you  just  one  minute  to 
leave  my  room,  you  drunken  blackguard,” 
said  Goldsmith,  laying  a hand  on  the  arm  of 
Signor  Nicolo,  who  was  in  the  act  of  rising. 
“Come,  sir,”  he  continued,  “I  submitted  to 
your  insults  last  night  because  I had  a pur- 
pose to  carry  out;  but  I promise  you  that  I 
give  you  no  such  license  in  my  own  house. 
Take  your  carcase  away,  sir  ; my  friends 
have  fastidious  nostrils.” 

Jackson’s  face  became  purple  and  then 
white.  His  lips  receded  from  his  gums 
until  his  teeth  were  seen  as  the  teeth  of  a 
wolf  when  it  is  too  cowardly  to  attack. 

“You  cur!”  he  said  through  his  set 
teeth.  “I  don’t  know  what  prevents  me 
from  running  you  through  the  body.” 

“Do  you  not?  I do,”  said  Goldsmith. 
He  had  taken  the  second  bottle  of  wine  off 
the  table,  and  was  toying  with  it  in  his 
hands. 

“Come,  sir,”  said  the  bully  after  a 
pause;  “I  don’t  wish  to  go  to  Sir  John 
Fielding  for  a warrant  for  your  arrest  for 
stealing  my  property,  but,  by  the  Lord,  if 
you  don’t  hand  over  those  letters  to  me  now 
I will  not  spare  you.  I shall  have  you  taken 
into  custody  as  a thief  before  an  hour  has 
passed.” 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  325 

“ Go  to  Sir  John,  my  friend,  and  tell  him 
that  Dick  Jackson,  American  spy,  is  anxious 
to  hang-  himself,  and  mention  that  one 
Oliver  Goldsmith  has  at  hand  the  rope  that 
will  rid  the  world  of  one  of  its  greatest 
scoundrels,”  said  Goldsmith. 

Jackson  took  a step  or  two  back,  and  put 
his  hand  to  his  sword.  In  a second  both 
Baretti  and  Nicolo  had  touched  the  hilts  of 
their  weapons.  The  bully  looked  from  the 
one  to  the  other,  and  then  laughed  harshly. 

“My  little  poet,”  he  said  in  a mocking 
voice,  “you  fancy  that  because  you  have 
got  a letter  or  two  you  have  drawn  my 
teeth.  Let  me  tell  you  for  your  informa- 
tion that  I have  something  in  my  possession 
that  I can  use  as  I meant  to  use  the  letters.’’ 

“And  I tell  you  that  if  you  use  it,  what- 
ever it  is,  by  God  I shall  kill  you,  were  you 
thrice  the  scoundrel  that  you  are!”  cried 
Goldsmith,  leaping  up. 

There  was  scarcely  a pause  before  the 
whistle  of  the  man’s  sword  through  the  air 
was  heard;  but  Baretti  gave  Goldsmith  a 
push  that  sent  him  behind  a chair,  and  then 
quietly  interposed  between  him  and  Jack- 
son. 

“Pardon  me,  sir,”  said  he,  bowing  to 
Jackson,  “but  we  cannot  permit  you  to 
stick  an  unarmed  man.  Your  attempt  to 


326  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

do  so  in  our  presence  my  friend  and  I re- 
gard as  a grave  affront  to  us.” 

“Then  let  one  of  you  draw!”  shouted 
the  man.  “ I see  that  you  are  Frenchmen, 
and  I have  cut  the  throat  of  a good  many  of 
your  race.  Draw,  sir,  and  I shall  add  you 
to  the  Frenchies  that  I have  sent  to  hell.” 
“Nay,  sir,  I wear  spectacles,  as  you 
doubtless  perceive,”  said  Baretti.  “I  do 
not  wish  my  glasses  to  be  smashed ; but  my 
friend  here,  though  a weaker  man,  may  pos- 
sibly not  decline  to  fight  with  so  contempti- 
ble a ruffian  as  you  undoubtedly  are.” 

He  spoke  a few  words  to  Nicolo  in 
Italian,  and  in  a second  the  latter  had 
whisked  out  his  sword  and  had  stepped 
between  Jackson  and  Baretti,  putting  quiet- 
ly aside  the  fierce  lunge  which  the  former 
made  when  Baretti  had  turned  partly  round. 

“Briccone!  assassin!”  hissed  Baretti. 
“ You  saw  that  he  meant  to  kill  me,  Nicolo,” 
he  said  addressing  his  friend  in  their  own 
tongue. 

“ He  shall  pay  for  it,”  whispered  Nicolo, 
pushing  back  a chair  with  his  foot  until 
Goldsmith  lifted  it  and  several  other  pieces 
of  furniture  out  of  the  way,  so  as  to  make  a 
clear  space  in  the  room. 

“ Don’t  kill  him,  friend  Nicolo,”  he  cried. 
“We  used  to  enjoy  a sausage  or  two  in  the 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  327 

old  days  at  Pisa.  You  can  make  sausag-e- 
meat  of  a carcase  without  absolutely  killing* 
the  beast.” 

The  fencing-master  smiled  grimly,  but 
spoke  no  word. 

Jackson  seemed  puzzled  for  a few  mo- 
ments, and  Baretti  roared  with  laughter, 
watching  him  hang  back.  The  laugh  of  the 
Italian  — it  was  not  melodious  — acted  as  a 
goad  upon  him.  He  rushed  upon  Nicolo, 
trying  to  beat  down  his  guard,  but  his 
antagonist  did  not  yield  a single  inch.  He 
did  not  even  cease  to  smile  as  he  parried 
the  attack.  His  expression  resembled  that 
of  an  indulgent  chess  player  when  a lad 
who  has  airily  offered  to  play  with  him 
opens  the  game. 

After  a few  minutes’  fencing,  during 
which  the  Italian  declined  to  attack.  Jack- 
son  drew  back  and  lowered  the  point  of  his 
sword. 

“Take  a chair,  sir,”  said  Baretti,  grin- 
ning. “You  will  have  need  of  one  before 
my  friend  has  finished  with  you.” 

Goldsmith  said  nothing.  The  man  had 
grossly  insulted  him  the  evening  before, 
and  he  had  made  Mary  Horneck  wretched ; 
but  he  could  not  taunt  him  now  that  he  was 
at  the  mercy  of  a master-swordsman.  He 
watched  the  man  breathing  hard,  and  then 


328  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

nerving*  himself  for  another  attack  upon 
the  Italian. 

Jackson’s  second  attempt  to  get  Nicolo 
within  the  range  of  his  sword  was  no  more 
successful  than  his  first.  He  was  no  des- 
picable fencer,  but  his  antagonist  could 
afford  to  play  with  him.  The  sound  of  his 
hard  breathing  was  a contrast  to  the  only 
other  sound  in  the  room  — the  grating  of 
steel  against  steel. 

Then  the  smile  upon  the  sallow  face  of 
the  fencing-master  seemed  gradually  to 
vanish.  He  became  more  than  serious  — 
surely  his  expression  was  one  of  apprehen- 
sion. Goldsmith  became  somewhat  excited. 
He  grasped  Baretti  by  the  arm,  as  one  of 
Jackson’s  thrusts  passed  within  half  an 
inch  of  his  antagonist’s  shoulder,  and  for 
the  first  time  Nicolo  took  a hasty  step  back, 
and  in  doing  so  barely  succeeded  in  pro- 
tecting himself  against  a fierce  lunge  of  the 
other  man. 

It  was  now  Jackson’s  turn  to  laugh.  He 
gave  a contemptuous  chuckle  as  he  pressed 
forward  to  follow  up  his  advantage.  He  did 
not  succeed  in  touching  Nicolo,  though  he 
went  very  close  to  him  more  than  once,  and 
now  it  was  plain  that  the  Italian  was  greatly 
exhausted.  He  was  breathing  hard,  and 
the  look  of  apprehension  on  his  face  had  in- 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  329 

creased  until  it  had  actually  become  one  of 
terror.  Jackson  did  not  fail  to  perceive 
this,  and  malignant  triumph  was  in  every 
feature  of  his  face.  Any  one  could  see  that 
he  felt  confident  of  tiring  out  the  visibly 
fatigued  Italian,  and  Goldsmith,  with  star- 
ing eyes,  once  again  clutched  Baretti. 

Baretti’s  yellow  skin  became  wrinkled 
up  to  the  meeting  place  of  his  wig  and  fore- 
head in  smiles. 

“I  should  like  the  third  button  of  his 
coat  for  a memento,  Sandrino,”  said  he. 

In  an  instant  there  was  a quivering  fiash 
through  the  air,  and  the  third  paste  button 
off  Jackson’s  coat  indented  the  wall  just 
above  Baretti’s  head  and  fell  at  his  feet,  a 
scrap  of  the  satin  of  the  coat  flying  behind 
it  like  the  little  pennon  on  a lance. 

“ Heavens  I ” whispered  Goldsmith. 

“Ah,  friend  Nicolo  was  always  a great 
humourist,”  said  Baretti.  “For  God’s 
sake,  Sandrino,  throw  them  high  into  the 
air.  The  rush  of  that  last  was  like  a 
bullet.” 

Up  to  the  ceiling  flashed  another  button, 
and  fell  back  upon  the  coat  from  which  it 
was  torn. 

And  still  Nicolo  fenced  away  with  that 
look  of  apprehension  still  on  his  face. 


330  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“That  is  his  fun,”  said  Baretti.  “Oh, 
body  of  Bacchus  ! A great  humourist  1 ” 

The  next  button  that  Nicolo  cut  off  with 
the  point  of  his  sword  he  caught  in  his  left 
hand  and  threw  to  Goldsmith,  who  also 
caught  it. 

The  look  of  triumph  vanished  from 
Jackson’s  face.  He  drew  back,  but  his  an- 
tagonist would  not  allow  him  to  lower  his 
sword,  but  followed  him  round  the  room 
untiringly.  He  had  ceased  his  pretence  of 
breathing  heavily,  but  apparently  his  right 
arm  was  tired,  for  he  had  thrown  his  sword 
into  his  left  hand,  and  was  now  fencing 
from  that  side. 

Suddenly  the  air  became  filled  with 
floating  scraps  of  silk  and  satin.  They 
quivered  to  right  and  left,  like  butterflies 
settling  down  upon  a meadow;  they  flut- 
tered about  by  the  hundred,  making  a 
pretty  spectacle.  Jackson’s  coat  and  waist- 
coat were  in  tatters,  yet  with  such  con- 
summate dexterity  did  the  fencing-master 
cut  the  pieces  out  of  both  garments  that 
Goldsmith  utterly  failed  to  see  the  sword- 
play that  produced  so  amazing  a result. 
Nicolo  seemed  to  be  fencing  pretty  much 
as  usual. 

And  then  a curious  incident  occurred, 
for  the  front  part  of  one  of  the  man’s  pock- 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  331 

ets  being  cut  away,  a packet  of  letters, 
held  against  the  lining  by  a few  threads  of 
silk,  became  visible,  and  in  another  mo- 
ment Nicolohad  spitted  them  on  his  sword, 
and  laid  them  on  the  table  in  a single  flash. 
Goldsmith  knew  by  the  look  that  Jackson 
cast  at  them  that  they  were  the  batch  of 
letters  which  he  had  received  in  the  course 
of  his  traffic  with  the  American  rebels. 

“Come,  Sandrino,”  said  Baretti,  affect- 
ing to  yawn.  “Finish  the  rascal  off,  and 
let  us  go  to  that  excellent  bottle  of  Madeira 
which  awaits  us.  Come,  sir,  the  carrion 
is  not  worth  more  than  you  have  given  him; 
he  has  kept  us  from  our  wine  too  long 
already.” 

With  a curiously  tricky  turn  of  the 
wrist,  the  master  cut  off  the  right  sleeve  of 
the  man’s  coat  close  to  his  shoulder,  and 
drew  it  in  a flash  over  his  sword.  The  dis- 
closing of  the  man’s  naked  arm  and  the 
hiding  of  the  greater  part  of  his  weapon 
were  comical  in  the  extreme;  and  with  an 
oath  Jackson  dropped  his  sword  and  fell  in 
a heap  upon  the  floor,  thoroughly  ex- 
hausted. 

Baretti  picked  up  the  sword,  broke  the 
blade  across  his  knee,  and  flung  the  pieces 
into  a corner,  the  tattered  sleeve  still  en- 
tangled in  the  guard. 


332  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“John,”  shouted  Goldsmith  to  his  serv- 
ant, who  was  not  far  off,  (He  had  wit- 
nessed the  duel  through  the  keyhole  of  the 
door  until  it  became  too  exciting,  and  then 
he  had  put  his  head  into  the  room.)  “John, 
give  that  man  your  oldest  coat.  It  shall 
never  be  said  that  I turned  a man  naked 
out  of  my  house.”  When  John  Eyles  had 
left  the  room,  Oliver  turned  to  the  half-naked 
panting  man.  “You  are  possibly  the  most 
contemptible  bully  and  coward  alive,”  said 
he.  “You  did  not  hesitate  to  try  and  ac- 
complish the  ruin  of  the  sweetest  girl  in 
the  world,  and  you  came  here  with  intent 
to  murder  me  because  I succeeded  in  sav- 
ing her  from  your  clutches.  If  I let  you  go 
now,  it  is  because  I know  that  in  these  let- 
ters, which  I mean  to  keep,  I have  such 
evidence  against  you  as  will  hang  you  when- 
ever I see  fit  to  use  it,  and  I promise  you  to 
use  it  if  you  are  in  this  country  at  the  end 
of  two  days.  Now,  leave  this  house,  and 
thank  my  servant  for  giving  you  his  coat, 
and  this  gentleman  ” — he  pointed  to  Nicolo 
— “for  such  a lesson  in  fencing  as,  I sup- 
pose, you  never  before  received.” 

The  man  rose,  painfully  and  labori- 
ously, and  took  the  coat  with  which  John 
Eyles  returned.  He  looked  at  Goldsmith 
from  head  to  foot. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  333 

“You  contemptible  cur!”  he  said,  “I 
have  not  yet  done  with  you.  You  have  now 
stolen  the  second  packet  of  letters;  but,  by 
the  Lord,  if  one  of  them  passes  out  of  your 
hands  it  will  be  aveng*ed.  I have  friends  in 
pretty  hig*h  places,  let  me  tell  you.” 

“I  do  not  doubt  it,  said  Baretti.  “The 
gallows  is  a high  enough  place  for  you  and 
your  friends.” 

The  ruffian  turned  upon  him  in  a fury. 

“Look  to  yourself,  you  foreign  hound!” 
he  said,  his  face  becoming  livid,  and  his  lips 
receding  from  his  mouth  so  as  to  leave  his 
wolf-fangs  bare  as  before.  “ Look  to  your- 
self. You  broke  my  sword  after  luring  me 
on  to  be  made  a fool  of  for  your  sport.  Look 
to  yourself!  ” 

“ Turn  that  rascal  into  the  street,  John,” 
cried  Goldsmith,  and  John  bustled  forward. 
There  was  fighting  in  the  air.  If  it  came 
to  blows  he  flattered  himself  that  he  could 
give  an  interesting  exhibition  of  his  powers 
— not  quite  so  showy,  perhaps,  as  that  given 
by  the  Italian,  but  one  which  he  was  certain 
was  more  English  in  its  style. 

“No  one  shall  lay  a hand  on  me,”  said 
Jackson.  “ Do  you  fancy  that  I am  anxious 
to  remain  in  such  a company  ?” 


334  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“Come,  sir;  you  are  in  my  charg-e,  now,” 
said  John,  hustling*  him  to  the  door.  “Come 
— out  with  you  — sharp!” 

In  the  room  they  heard  the  sound  of  the 
man  descending*  the  stairs  slowly  and  pain- 
fully. They  became  aware  of  his  pause  in 
the  lobby  below  to  put  on  the  coat  which 
John  had  g*iven  to  him,  and  a moment  later 
they  saw  him  walk  in  the  direction  of  the 
Temple  lodge. 

Then  Goldsmith  turned  to  Signor  Nicolo, 
who  was  examining  one  of  the  prints  that 
Hogarth  had  presented  to  his  early  friend, 
who  had  hung  them  on  his  wall. 

“ You  came  at  an  opportune  moment, 
my  friend,”  said  he.  “ You  have  not  only 
saved  my  life,  you  have  afforded  me  such 
entertainment  as  I never  have  known  be- 
fore. Sir,  you  are  certainly  the  greatest 
living  master  of  your  art.” 

“The  best  swordsman  is  the  best  pa- 
triot,” said  Baretti. 

“ That  is  why  so  many  of  your  country- 
men live  in  England,”  said  Goldsmith. 

“Alas!  yes,’'  said  Nicolo.  “Happily  you 
Englishmen  are  not  good  patriots,  or  you 
would  not  be  able  to  live  in  England.” 

“lam  not  an  Englishman,”  said  Gold- 
smith. “lam  an  Irish  patriot,  and  there- 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  335 

fore  I find  it  more  convenient  to  live  out  of 
Ireland.  Perhaps  it  is  not  g-ood  patriotism 
to  say,  as  I do,  ‘ Better  to  live  in  England 
than  to  starve  in  Ireland.’  And  talking  of 
starving,  sirs,  reminds  me  that  my  dinner 
hour  is  nigh.  What  say  you.  Signor  Nicolo? 
What  say  you,  Baretti  ? Will  you  honour  me 
with  your  company  to  dinner  at  the  Crown 
and  Anchor  an  hour  hence?  We  shall  chat 
over  the  old  days  at  Pisa  and  the  prospects 
of  the  Figli  della  Torre,  Signor  Nicolo.  We 
cannot  stay  here,  for  it  will  take  my  servant 
and  Mrs.  Ginger  a good  two  hours  to  sweep 
up  the  fragments  of  that  rascal’s  garments. 
Lord!  what  a patchwork  quilt  Dr.  Johnson’s 
friend  Mrs.  Williams  could  make  if  she 
were  nigh.” 

“ Patchwork  should  not  only  be  made,  it 
should  be  used  by  the  blind,”  said  Baretti. 
“Touching  the  dinner  you  so  hospitably 
propose,  I have  no  engagement  for  to-day. 
and  I dare  swear  that  Nicolo  has  none 
either.” 

“He  has  taken  part  in  one  engagement, 
at  least,”  said  Goldsmith, 

“And  I am  now  at  your  service,”  said 
the  fencing- master. 

They  went  out  together.  Goldsmith  with 
the  precious  letters  in  his  pocket  — the  sec- 


336  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

ond  batch  he  put  in  the  place  of  Mary  Hor- 
neck’s  in  his  desk  — and,  parting- at  Fleet 
street,  they  ag-reed  to  meet  at  the  Crown 
and  Anchor  in  an  hour. 


CHAPTER  XXVIL 

It  was  with  a feeling-  of  deep  satisfac- 
tion, such  as  he  had  never  before  known, 
that  Goldsmith  walked  westward  to  Mrs. 
Horneck’s  house.  All  the  exhilaration  that 
he  had  experienced  by  watching*  the  extra- 
ordinary exhibition  of  adroitness  on  the 
part  of  the  fencing*-master  remained  with 
him.  The  exhibition  had,  of  course,  been  a 
trifle  bizarre.  It  had  more  than  a suspicion 
of  the  art  of  the  mountebank  about  it.  For 
instance,  Nicolo’s  pretence  of  being-  over- 
matched early  in  the  contest  — breathing- 
hard  and  assuming*  a terrified  expression 
— yielding-  his  g-round  and  allowing*  his 
opponent  almost  to  run  him  through  — 
could  only  be  regarded  as  theatrical ; while 
his  tricks  with  the  buttons  and  the  letters, 
though  amazing,  were  akin  to  the  devices 
of  a rope-dancer.  But  this  fact  did  not 
prevent  the  whole  scene  from  having  an 
exhilarating  effect  upon  Goldsmith,  more 
especially  as  it  represented  his  repayment 
of  the  debt  which  he  owed  to  Jackson, 

337 


338  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

And  now  to  this  feeling-  was  added  that 
of  the  greatest  joy  of  his  life  in  having  it  in 
his  power  to  remove  from  the  sweetest 
girl  in  the  world  the  terror  which  she  be- 
lieved to  be  hanging  over  her  head.  He  felt 
that  every  step  which  he  was  taking  west- 
ward was  bringing  him  nearer  to  the  real- 
isation of  his  longing  — his  longing  to  see 
the  white  roses  on  Mary’s  cheeks  change 
to  red  once  more. 

It  was  a disappointment  to  him  to  learn 
that  Mary  had  gone  down  to  Barton  with 
the  Bunburys.  Her  mother,  who  met  him 
in  the  hall,  told  him  this  with  a grave  face 
as  she  brought  him  into  a parlour. 

“ I think  she  expected  you  to  call  during 
the  past  ten  days,  Dr.  Goldsmith,”  said  the 
lady.  “I  believe  that  she  was  more  than  a 
little  disappointed  that  you  could  not  find 
time  to  come  to  her.” 

“Was  she,  indeed?  Did  she  really 
expect  me  to  call?  ” he  asked.  This  fresh 
proof  of  the  confidence  which  the  Jessamy 
Bride  reposed  in  him  was  very  dear  to  him. 
She  had  not  merely  entrusted  him  with  her 
enterprise  on  the  chance  of  his  being  able 
to  save  her  ; she  had  had  confidence  in  his 
ability  to  save  her,  and  had  looked  for  his 
coming  to  tell  her  of  his  success. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  339 

“She  seemed  very  anxious  to  see  you,” 
said  Mrs.  Horneck.  “I  fear,  dear  Dr.  Gold- 
smith, that  my  poor  child  has  something-  on 
her  mind.  That  is  her  sister’s  idea  also. 
And  yet  it  is  impossible  that  she  should 
have  any  secret  trouble  ; she  has  not  been 
out  of  our  sight  since  her  visit  to  Devonshire 
last  year.  At  that  time  she  had,  I believe, 
some  silly,  girlish  fancy^ — my  brother  wrote 
to  me  that  there  had  been  in  his  neighbour- 
hood a certain  attractive  man,  an  officer 
who  had  returned  home  with  a wound  re- 
ceived in  the  war  with  the  American 
rebels.  But  surely  she  has  got  over  that 
foolishness ! ” 

“Ah,  yes.  You  may  take  my  word  for 
it,  madam,  she  has  got  over  that  foolish- 
ness,” said  Goldsmith.  “ You  may  take 
my  word  for  it  that  when  she  sees  me  the 
roses  will  return  to  her  cheeks.” 

“I  do  hope  so,”  said  Mrs.  Horneck. 
“Yes,  you  could  always  contrive  to  make 
her  merry.  Dr.  Goldsmith.  We  have  all 
missed  you  lately  ; we  feared  that  that  dis- 
graceful letter  in  the  Packet  had  affected 
you.  That  was  why  my  son  called  upon 
you  at  your  rooms.  I hope  he  assured  you 
that  nothing  it  contained  would  interfere 
with  our  friendship.” 


340  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“That  was  very  kind  of  you,  my  dear 
madam,”  said  he;  “bull  have  seen  Mary 
since  that  thing  appeared.” 

“ To  be  sure  you  have.  Did  you  not 
think  that  she  looked  very  ill?  ” 

“Very  ill  indeed,  madam;  but  I am 
ready  to  give  you  my  assurance  that  when 
I have  been  half  an  hour  with  her  she  will 
be  on  the  way  to  recovery.  You  have  not, 
I fear,  much  confidence  in  my  skill  as  a 
doctor  of  medicine,  and,  to  tell  you  the 
truth,  whatever  your  confidence  in  this 
direction  may  amount  to,  it  is  a great  deal 
more  than  what  I myself  have.  Still,  I 
think  you  will  say  something  in  my  favour 
when  you  see  Mary’s  condition  begin  to 
improve  from  the  moment  we  have  a little 
chat  together.” 

“That  is  wherein  I have  the  amplest  con- 
fidence in  you,  dear  Dr.  Goldsmith.  Your 
chat  with  her  will  do  more  for  her  than  all 
the  medicine  the  most  skilful  of  physicians 
could  prescribe.  It  was  a very  inopportune 
time  for  her  to  fall  sick.” 

“ I think  that  all  sicknesses  are  inoppor- 
tune. But  why  Mary’s?  ” 

“Well,  I have  good  reason  to  believe. 
Dr.  Goldsmith,  that  had  she  not  steadfastly 
refused  to  see  a certain  gentleman  who  has 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  341 

been  greatly  attracted  by  her,  I might  now 
have  some  happy  news  to  convey  to  you.” 

“The  g-entleman’s  name  is  Colonel 
Gwyn,  I think.” 

He  spoke  in  a low  voice  and  after  a long- 
pause. 

“Ah,  you  have  guessed  it,  then?  You 
have  perceived  that  the  gentleman  was 
drawn  toward  her?  ” said  the  lady  smiling. 

“I  have  every  reason  to  believe  in  his 
sincerity,”  said  Goldsmith.  “And  you 
think  that  if  Mary  had  been  as  well  as  she 
usually  has  been,  she  would  have  listened 
to  his  proposals,  madam?  ” 

“Why  should  she  not  have  done  so, 
sir?”  said  Mrs.  Horneck. 

“ Why  not,  indeed?  ” 

“ Colonel  Gwyn  would  be  a very  suitable 
match  for  her,”  said  she.  “He  is,  to  be 
sure,  several  years  her  senior;  that,  how- 
ever, is  nothing.” 

“You  think  so  — you  think  that  a dis- 
parity in  age  should  mean  nothing  in  such 
a case?  ” said  Oliver,  rather  eagerly. 

“How  could  any  one  be  so  narrow- 
minded as  to  think  otherwise?  ” cried  Mrs. 
Horneck.  “Whoever  may  think  otherwise, 
sir,  I certainly  do  not.  I hope  I am  too 
good  a mother.  Dr.  Goldsmith.  Nay,  sir,  I 
could  not  stand  between  my  daughter  and 


342  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

happiness  on  such  a pretext  as  a difference 
in  years.  After  all,  Colonel  Gwyn  is  but  a 
year  or  two  over  thirty  — thirty-seven,  I 
believe  — but  he  does  not  look  more  than 
thirty -five.” 

“ No  one  more  cordially  agrees  with  you 
than  myself  on  the  point  to  which  you  give 
emphasis,  madam,”  said  Goldsmith.  “And 
you  think  that  Mary  will  see  Colonel  Gwyn 
when  she  returns?  ” 

“I  hope  so;  and  therefore  I hope,  dear 
sir,  that  you  will  exert  yourself  so  that 
the  bloom  will  be  brought  back  to  her 
cheeks,”  said  the  lady.  “That  is  your 
duty.  Doctor;  remember  that,  I pray.  You 
are  to  bring  back  the  bloom  to  her  cheeks 
in  order  that  Colonel  Gwyn  may  be  doubly 
attracted  to  her.” 

“I  understand  — I understand.” 

He  spoke  slowly,  gravely. 

“ I knew  you  would  help  us,”  said  Mrs. 
Horneck,  “and  so  I hope  that  you  will  lose 
no  time  in  coming  to  us  after  Mary’s  return 
to-morrow.  Your  Jessamy  Bride  will,  I 
trust,  be  a real  bride  before  many  days 
have  passed.” 

Yes,  that  was  his  duty  : to  help  Mary  to 
happiness.  Not  for  him,  not  for  him  was 
the  bloom  to  be  brought  again  to  her  cheeks 
• — not  for  him,  but  for  another  man.  For 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  343 

him  were  the  sleepless  nights,  the  anxious 
days,  the  hours  of  thought  — all  the  anxiety 
and  all  the  danger  resulting  from  facing  an 
unscrupulous  scoundrel.  For  another  man 
was  the  joy  of  putting  his  lips  upon  the 
delicate  bloom  of  her  cheeks,  the  joy  of 
taking  her  sweet  form  into  his  arms,  of 
dwelling  daily  in  her  smiles,  of  being  for 
evermore  beside  her,  of  feeling  hourly  the 
pride  of  so  priceless  a possession  as  her 
love. 

That  was  his  thought  as  he  walked 
along  the  Strand  with  bent  head ; and  yet, 
before  he  had  reached  the  Crown  and 
Anchor,  he  said  — 

“Even  so;  I am  satisfied  — I am  satis- 
fied.” 

It  chanced  that  Dr.  Johnson  was  in  the 
tavern  with  Steevens,  and  Goldsmith  per- 
suaded both  to  join  his  party.  He  was 
glad  that  he  succeeded  in  doing  so,  for  he 
had  felt  it  was  quite  possible  that  Baretti 
might  inquire  of  him  respecting  the  object 
of  Jackson’s  visit  to  Brick  Court,  and  he 
could  not  well  explain  to  the  Italian  the 
nature  of  the  enterprise  which  he  had  so 
successfully  carried  out  by  the  aid  of  Mrs. 
Abington.  It  was  one  thing  to  take  Mrs. 
Abington  into  his  confidence,  and  quite 
another  to  confide  in  Baretti.  He  was  dis- 


344  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

criminating*  enough  to  be  well  aware  of  the 
fact  that,  while  the  secret  was  perfectly 
safe  in  the  keeping  of  the  actress,  it  would 
be  by  no  means  equally  so  if  confided  to 
Baretti,  although  some  people  might  laugh 
at  him  for  entertaining  an  opinion  so  con- 
trary to  that  which  was  generally  accepted 
by  the  world,  Mrs.  Abington  being  a woman 
and  Baretti  a man. 

He  had  perceived  long  ago  that  Baretti 
was  extremely  anxious  to  learn  all  about 
Jackson  — that  he  was  wondering  how  he. 
Goldsmith,  should  have  become  mixed  up 
in  a matter  which  was  apparently  of  im- 
perial importance,  for  at  the  mention  of  the 
American  rebels  Baretti  had  opened  his 
eyes.  He  was,  therefore,  glad  that  the  talk 
at  the  table  was  so  general  as  to  prevent 
any  allusion  being  made  to  the  incidents  of 
the  day. 

Dr.  Johnson  made  Signor  Nicolo  ac- 
quainted with  a few  important  facts  regard- 
ing the  use  of  the  sword  and  the  limitations 
of  that  weapon,  which  the  Italian  accepted 
with  wonderful  gravity;  and  when  Gold- 
smith, on  the  conversation  drifting  into  the 
question  of  patriotism  and  its  trials,  de- 
clared that  a successful  patriot  was  suscep- 
tible of  being  defined  as  a man  who  loved 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  345 

his  country  for  the  benefit  of  himself,  Dr. 
Johnson  roared  out  — 

“Sir,  that  is  very  g*ood.  If  Mr.  Bos- 
well were  here  — and  indeed,  sir,  I am  g*lad 
that  he  is  not  — he  would  say  that  your 
definition  was  so  good  as  to  make  him  cer- 
tain you  had  stolen  it  from  me.” 

“ Nay,  sir,  ’tis  not  so  good  as  to  have 
been  stolen  from  you,”  said  Goldsmith. 

“Sir,”  said  Dr.  Johnson,  “I  did  not  say 
that  it  was  good  enough  to  have  been  stolen 
from  me.  I only  said  that  it  was  good 
enough  to  make  a very  foolish  person  sup- 
pose that  it  was  stolen  from  me.  No  sens- 
ible person.  Dr.  Goldsmith,  would  believe, 
first,  that  you  would  steal;  secondly,  that 
3^ou  would  steal  from  me;  thirdly,  that  I 
would  give  you  a chance  of  stealing  from 
me;  and  fourthly,  that  I would  compose  an 
apophthegm  which  when  it  comes  to  be 
closely  examined  is  not  so  good  after  all. 
Now,  sir,  are  you  satisfied  with  the  extent 
of  my  agreement  with  you?” 

“Sir,  I am  more  than  satisfied,”  said 
Goldsmith,  while  Nicolo,  the  cunning  mas- 
ter of  fence,  sat  by  with  a puzzled  look  on 
his  saffron  face.  This  was  a kind  of  fenc- 
ing of  which  he  had  had  no  previous  ex- 
perience. 


346  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

After  dining-  Goldsmith  made  the  excuse 
of  being-  required  at  the  theatre,  to  leave  his 
friends.  He  was  anxious  to  return  thanks 
to  Mrs.  Abing-ton  for  manag-ing*  so  adroitly 
to  accomplish  in  a moment  all  that  he  had 
hoped  to  do. 

He  found  the  lady  not  in  the  g*reen  room, 
but  in  her  dressing-  room ; her  costume  was 
not,  however,  the  less  fascinating-,  nor  was 
her  smile  the  less  subtle  as  she  g*ave  him 
her  hand  to  kiss.  He  knelt  on  one  knee, 
holding-  her  hand  to  his  lips;  he  was  too 
much  overcome  to  be  able  to  speak,  and  she 
knew  it.  She  did  not  mind  how  long*  he 
held  her  hand;  she  was  quite  accustomed  to 
such  demonstrations,  thoug-h  few,  she  well 
knew,  were  of  equal  sincerity  to  those  of 
Oliver  Goldsmith’s. 

“Well,  my  poet,”  she  said  at  last,  “have 
you  need  of  my  services  to  banish  any  more 
demons  from  the  neighbourhood  of  your 
friends?” 

“I  was  right,”  he  managed  to  say  after 
another  pause,  “ yes,  I knew  I was  not  mis- 
taken in  you,  my  dear  lady.” 

“Yes;  you  knew  that  I was  equal  to 
combat  the  wiles  of  the  craftiest  demon  that 
ever  undertook  the  slandering  of  a fair 
damsel,”  said  she.  “ Well,  sir,  you  paid  me 
a doubtful  compliment  — a more  doubtful 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  347 

compliment  than  the  fair  damsel  paid  to 
you  in  asking*  you  to  be  her  champion.  But 
you  have  not  told  me  of  your  adventurous 
journey  with  our  friend  in  the  hackney 
coach.” 

“Nay,” he  cried,  “it  is  you  who  have 
not  yet  told  me  by  what  means  you  became 
possessed  of  the  letters  which  I wanted  — 
by  what  mag*ic  you  substituted  for  them 
the  mock  act  of  the  comedy  which  I carried 
with  me  into  the  supper  room.” 

“Psha,  sir!”  said  she,  “’twas  a sim- 
ple matter,  after  all.  I gathered  from  a re- 
mark the  fellow  made  when  laying  his 
cloak  across  the  chair,  that  he  had  the  let- 
ters in  one  of  the  pockets  of  that  same 
cloak.  He  gave  me  a hint  that  a certain 
Ned  Cripps,  who  shares  his  lodging,  is  not 
to  be  trusted,  so  that  he  was  obliged  to  carry 
about  with  him  every  document  on  which 
he  places  a value.  Well,  sir,  my  well  known 
loyalty  naturally  received  a great  shock 
when  he  offered  to  drink  to  the  American 
rebels,  and  you  saw  that  I left  the  table 
hastily.  A minute  or  so  sufficed  me  to  dis- 
cover the  wallet  with  the  letters;  but  then 
I was  at  my  wits’  end  to  find  something  to 
occupy  their  place  in  the  receptacle.  Hap- 
pily my  eye  caught  the  roll  of  your  manu- 
script, which  lay  in  your  hat  on  the  floor 


348  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

beneath  the  chair,  and  heigh!  presto!  the 
trick  was  played.  I had  a sufficient  appre- 
ciation of  dramatic  incident  to  keep  me 
hoping  all  the  night  that  you  would  be  able 
to  get  possession  of  the  wallet,  believing  it 
contained  the  letters  for  which  you  were  in 
search.  Lord,  sir  ! I tried  to  picture  your 
face  when  you  drew  out  your  own  papers.” 
The  actress  lay  back  on  her  couch  and 
roared  with  laughter.  Goldsmith  joining  in 
quite  pleasantly. 

“Ah!”  he  said;  “I  can  fancy  that  I 
see  at  this  moment  the  expression  which 
my  face  wore  at  the  time.  But  the  sequel 
to  the  story  is  the  most  humourous.  I suc- 
ceeded last  night  in  picking  the  fellow’s 
pocket,  but  he  paid  me  a visit  this  after- 
noon with  the  intent  of  recovering  what  he 
termed  his  property.” 

“Oh,  lud  ! Call  you  that  humourous? 
How  did  you  rid  yourself  of  him  ? ” 

At  the  story  of  the  fight  which  had 
taken  place  in  Brick  Court,  Mrs.  Abington 
laughed  heartily  after  a few  breathless  mo- 
ments. 

“ By  my  faith,  sir  ! ” she  cried;  “ I would 
give  ten  guineas  to  have  been  there.  But 
believe  me.  Dr.  Goldsmith,”  she  added  a 
moment  afterwards,  “ you  will  live  in  great 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  349 

jeopardy  so  long*  as  that  fellow  remains  in 
the  town.” 

“Nay,  my  dear,”  said  he.  “It  was 
Baretti  whom  he  threatened  as  he  left  my 
room  — not  I.  He  knows  that  I have  now 
in  my  possession  such  documents  as  would 
hang*  him.” 

“ Why,  is  not  that  the  very  reason  why 
he  should  make  an  attempt  upon  your 
life? ” cried  the  actress.  “He  may  try  to 
kill  Baretti  on  a point  of  sentiment,  but  as- 
suredly he  will  do  his  best  to  slaughter  you 
as  a matter  of  business.” 

“Faith,  madam,  since  you  put  it  that 
way  I do  believe  that  there  is  something  in 
what  you  say,”  said  Goldsmith.  “ So  I will 
e’en  take  a hackney-coach  to  the  Temple 
and  get  the  stalwart  Ginger  to  escort  me 
to  the  very  door  of  my  chambers.” 

“ Do  so,  sir.  I am  awaiting  with  great 
interest  the  part  which  you  have  yet  to 
write  for  me  in  a comedy.” 

“I  swear  to  you  that  it  will  be  the  best 
part  ever  written  by  me,  my  dear  friend. 
You  have  earned  my  everlasting  gratitude.” 
“Ah!  was  the  lady  so  grateful  as  all 
that?”  cried  the  actress,  looking  at  him 
with  one  of  those  arch  smiles  of  hers  which 
even  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  could  not  quite 
translate  to  show  the  next  century  what 


350  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

manner  of  woman  was  the  first  Lady  Tea- 
zle, for  the  part  of  the  capricious  young- 
wife  of  the  elderly  Sir  Peter  was  woven 
around  the  fascinating  country  girl’s  smile 
of  Mrs,  Abington. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


Goldsmith  kept  his  word.  He  took  a 
hackney-coach  to  the  Temple,  and  was  alert 
all  the  time  he  was  driving*  lest  Jackson  and 
his  friends  mig*ht  be  waiting*  to  make  an 
attack  upon  him.  He  reached  his  chambers 
without  any  adventure,  however,  and  on 
locking*  his  doors,  took  out  the  second  parcel 
of  letters  and  set  himself  to  peruse  their 
contents. 

He  had  no  need  to  read  them  all — the 
first  that  came  to  his  hand  was  sufficient  to 
make  him  aware  of  the  nature  of  the  cor- 
respondence. It  was  perfectly  plain  that 
the  man  had  been  endeavouring  to  traffic 
with  the  rebels,  and  it  was  equally  certain 
that  the  rebel  leaders  had  shown  them- 
selves to  be  too  honourable  to  take  advant- 
age of  the  offers  which  he  had  made  to 
them.  If  this  correspondence  had  come 
into  the  hands  of  Cornwallis  he  would  have 
hanged  the  fellow  on  the  nearest  tree  in- 
stead of  merely  turning  him  out  of  his 
regiment  and  shipping  him  back  to  Eng- 
land as  a suspected  traitor. 

351 


352  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

As  he  locked  the  letters  once  again  in 
his  desk  he  felt  that  there  was  indeed  every 
reason  to  fear  that  Jackson  would  not  rest 
until  he  had  obtained  possession  of  such 
damning  evidence  of  his  guilt.  He  would 
certainly  either  make  the  attempt  to  get 
back  the  letters,  or  leave  the  country,  in 
order  to  avoid  the  irretrievable  ruin  which 
would  fall  upon  him  if  any  one  of  the  packet 
went  into  the  hands  of  a magistrate;  and 
Goldsmith  was  strongly  of  the  belief  that 
the  man  would  adopt  the  former  course. 

Only  for  an  instant,  as  he  laid  down  the 
compromising  document,  did  he  ask  him- 
self how  it  was  possible  that  Mary  Horneck 
should  ever  have  been  so  blind  as  to  be 
attracted  to  such  a man,  and  to  believe  in 
his  honesty. 

He  knew  enough  of  the  nature  of  woman- 
kind to  be  aware  of  the  glamour  which 
attaches  to  a soldier  who  has  been  wounded 
in  fighting  the  enemies  of  his  country.  If 
Mary  had  been  less  womanly  than  she 
showed  herself  to  be,  he  would  not  have 
loved  her  so  well  as  he  did.  Her  womanly 
weaknesses  were  dear  to  him,  and  the  pain- 
ful evidence  that  he  had  of  the  tenderness  of 
her  heart  only  made  him  feel  that  she  was 
all  the  more  a woman,  and  therefore  all  the 
more  to  be  loved. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  353 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day 
before  he  set  out  once  more  for  the  Hor- 
necks’.  He  meant  to  see  Mary,  and  then 
g*o  on  to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds’s  to  dine. 
There  was  to  be  that  night  a meeting  of 
the  Royal  Academy,  which  he  would 
attend  with  the  president,  after  Sir 
Joshua’s  usual  five  o’clock  dinner.  It 
occurred  to  him  that,  as  Baretti  would 
also  most  probably  be  at  the  meeting, 
he  would  do  well  to  make  him  acquainted 
with  the  dangerous  character  of  Jackson, 
so  that  Baretti  might  take  due  precautions 
against  any  attack  that  the  desperate  man 
might  be  induced  to  make  upon  him.  No 
doubt  Baretti  would  make  a good  point  in 
conversation  with  his  friends  of  the  notion 
of  Oliver  Goldsmith’s  counselling  caution 
to  any  one;  but  the  latter  was  determined 
to  give  the  Italian  his  advice  on  this  matter, 
whatever  the  consequences  might  be. 

It  so  happened,  however,  that  he  was 
unable  to  carry  out  his  intention  in  full,  for 
on  visiting  Mrs.  Horneck,  he  learned  that 
Mary  would  not  return  from  Barton  until 
late  that  night,  and  at  the  meeting  of  the 
Academy  Baretti  failed  to  put  in  an  ap- 
pearance. 

He  mentioned  to  Sir  Joshua  that  he  had 
something  of  importance  to  communicate 


354  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

to  the  Italian,  and  that  he  was  somewhat 
uneasy  at  not  having  a chance  of  carrying 
out  his  intention  in  this  respect. 

“You  would  do  well,  then,  to  come  to 
my  house  for  supper,”  said  Reynolds.  “I 
think  it  is  very  probable  that  Baretti  will 
look  in,  if  only  to  apologise  for  his  absence 
from  the  meeting.  Miss  Kauffman  has 
promised  to  come,  and  I have  secured 
Johnson  as  well.” 

Goldsmith  agreed,  and  while  Johnson  and 
Angelica  Kauffman  walked  in  front,  he  fol- 
lowed with  Reynolds  some  distance  behind 
— not  so  far,  however,  as  to  be  out  of  the 
range  of  Johnson’s  voice.  Johnson  was  en- 
gaged in  a discourse  with  his  sweet  com- 
panion — he  was  particularly  fond  of  such 
companionship  — on  the  dignity  inseparable 
from  a classic  style  in  painting,  and  the 
enormity  of  painting  men  and  women  in  the 
habiliments  of  their  period  and  country. 
Angelica  Kauffman  was  not  a painter  who 
required  any  considerable  amount  of  re- 
monstrance from  her  preceptors  to  keep 
her  feet  from  straying  in  regard  to  classical 
traditions.  The  artist  who  gave  the  purest 
Greek  features  and  the  Roman  toga  alike 
to  the  Prodigal  Son  and  King  Edward  III 
could  not  be  said  to  be  capable  of  greatly 
erring  from  Dr.  Johnson’s  precepts. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  355 

All  through  supper  the  sage  continued 
his  discourse  at  intervals  of  eating,  giving 
his  hearty  commendation  to  Sir  Joshua’s 
conscientious  adherence  to  classical  tradi- 
tions, and  shouting  down  Goldsmith’s  mild 
suggestion  that  it  might  be  possible  to 
adhere  to  these  traditions  so  faithfully  as  to 
inculcate  a certain  artificiality  of  style 
which  might  eventually  prove  detrimental 
to  the  best  interests  of  art. 

“What,  sir!  ” cried  Johnson,  rolling  like 
a three-decker  swinging  at  anchor,  and 
pursing  out  his  lips,  “would  you  contend 
that  a member  of  Parliament  should  be 
painted  for  posterity  in  his  every-day 
clothes  — that  the  King  should  be  depicted 
as  an  ordinary  gentleman?  ” 

‘ Why,  yes,  sir,  if  the  King  were  an 
ordinary  gentleman,”  replied  Goldsmith. 

Whitefoord,  who  never  could  resist  the 
chance  of  making  a pun,  whispered  to 
Oliver  that  in  respect  of  some  Kings  there 
was  more  of  the  ordinary  than  the  gentle- 
man about  them,  and  when  Miss  Reynolds 
insisted  on  his  phrase  being  repeated  to 
her,  Johnson  became  grave. 

“Sir,”  he  cried,  turning  once  more  to 
Goldsmith,  “there  is  a very  flagrant  ex- 
ample of  what  you  would  bring  about. 
When  a monarch,  even  depicted  in  his 


356  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

robes  and  with  the  awe-inspiring*  insignia 
of  his  exalted  position,  is  not  held  to  be 
beyond  the  violation  of  a punster,  what 
would  he  be  if  shown  in  ordinary  garb? 
But  you,  sir,  in  your  aims  after  what  you 
call  the  natural,  would,  I believe,  consider 
seriously  the  advisability  of  the  epitaphs  in 
Westminster  Abbey  being  written  in  Eng- 
lish.” 

“And  why  not,  sir?”  said  Goldsmith; 
then,  with  a twinkle,  he  added,  “For  my 
own  part,  sir,  I hope  that  I may  live  to  read 
my  own  epitaph  in  Westminster  Abbey 
written  in  English.” 

Every  one  laughed,  including — when  the 
bull  had  been  explained  to  her  — Angelica 
Kauffman. 

After  supper  Sir  Joshua  put  his  fair 
guest  into  her  chair,  shutting  its  door  with 
his  own  hands,  and  shortly  afterwards 
Johnson  and  Whitefoord  went  off  together. 
But  still  Goldsmith,  at  the  suggestion  of 
Reynolds,  lingered  in  the  hope  that  Baretti 
would  call.  He  had  probably  been  detained 
at  the  house  of  a friend,  Reynolds  said,  and 
if  he  should  pass  Leicester  Square  on  his 
way  home,  he  would  certainly  call  to  ex- 
plain the  reason  of  his  absence  from  the 
meeting. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  357 

When  another  half-hour  had  passed,  how- 
ever, Goldsmith  rose  and  said  that  as  Sir 
Joshua’s  bed-time  was  at  hand,  it  would  be 
outrageous  for  him  to  wait  any  longer.  His 
host  accompanied  him  to  the  hall,  and  Ralph 
helped  him  on  with  his  cloak.  He  was  in 
the  act  of  receiving  his  hat  from  the  hand 
of  the  servant  when  the  hall-bell  was  rung 
with  starling  violence.  The  ring  was  re- 
peated before  Ralph  could  take  the  few 
steps  to  the  door. 

“If  that  is  Baretti  who  rings,  his  busi- 
ness must  be  indeed  urgent,”  said  Gold- 
smith. 

In  another  moment  the  door  was  opened, 
and  the  light  of  the  lamp  showed  the  figure 
of  Steevens  in  the  porch.  He  hurried  past 
Ralph,  crying  out  so  as  to  reach  the  ear  of 
Reynolds. 

“A  dreadful  thing  has  happened  to- 
night, sir ! Baretti  was  attacked  by  two 
men  in  the  Haymarket,  and  he  killed  one 
of  them  with  his  knife.  He  has  been  ar- 
rested, and  will  be'  charged  with  murder 
before  Sir  John  Fielding  in  the  morning. 
I heard  of  the  terrible  business  just  now, 
and  lost  no  time  coming  to  you.” 

“Merciful  heaven!”  cried  Goldsmith. 
“I  was  waiting  for  Baretti  in  order  to  warn 
him.” 


358  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“You  could  not  have  any  reason  for 
warning*  him  ag*ainst  such  an  attack  as  was 
made  upon  him,”  said  Steevens.  “It  seems 
that  the  fellow  whom  Baretti  was  unfortu- 
nate enoug*h  to  kill  was  one  of  a very  dis- 
reputable g*ang  well  known  to  the  con- 
stables. It  was  a Bow  street  runner  who 
stated  what  his  name  was.” 

“And  what  was  his  name?”  asked 
Reynolds. 

“Richard  Jackson,”  replied  Steevens. 
“Of  course  we  never  heard  the  name  be- 
fore. The  attack  upon  Baretti  was  the 
worst  that  could  be  imag*ined.” 

“The  world  is  undoubtedly  rid  of  a 
g*reat  rascal,”  said  Goldsmith. 

“Undoubtedly;  but  that  fact  will  not 
save  our  friend  from  being*  hang*ed,  should 
a jury  find  him  g*uilty,”  said  Steevens. 
“We  must  make  an  effort  to  avert  so  ter- 
rible a thing*.  That  is  why  I came  here 
now ; I tried  to  speak  to  Baretti,  but  the 
constables  would  not  g*ive  me  permission. 
They  carried  my  name  to  him,  however, 
and  he  sent  out  a messag*e  asking*  me  to  go 
without  delay  to  Sir  Joshua  and  you,  as 
well  as  Dr.  Johnson  and  Mr.  Garrick.  He 
hopes  you  may  find  it  convenient  to  attend 
before  Sir  John  Fielding*  at  Bow  street  in 
the  morning*.” 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  359 

“ That  we  shall,”  said  Sir  Joshua.  ‘‘  He 
shall  have  the  best  legal  advice  available  in 
England ; and,  meantime,  we  shall  go  to  him 
and  tell  him  that  he  may  depend  on  our 
help,  such  as  it  is.” 

The  coach  in  which  Steevens  had  come 
to  Leicester  Square  was  still  waiting,  and 
in  it  they  all  drove  to  where  Baretti  was 
detained  in  custody.  The  constables  would 
not  allow  them  to  see  the  prisoner,  but  they 
offered  to  convey  to  him  any  message  which 
his  friends  might  have,  and  also  to  carry 
back  to  them  his  reply. 

Goldsmith  was  extremely  anxious  to  get 
from  Baretti’s  own  lips  an  account  of  the 
assault  which  had  been  made  upon  him  ; 
but  he  could  not  induce  the  constables  to 
allow  him  to  go  into  his  presence.  They, 
however,  bore  in  his  message  to  the  effect 
that  he  might  depend  on  the  help  of  all  his 
friends  in  his  emergency. 

Sir  Joshua  sent  for  the  watchmen  by 
whom  the  arrest  had  been  effected,  and 
they  stated  that  Baretti  had  been  seized  by 
the  crowd  — a far  from  reputable  crowd  — 
so  soon  as  it  was  known  that  a man  had 
been  stabbed,  and  he  had  been  handed  over 
to  the  constables,  while  a surgeon  examined 
the  man’s  wound,  but  was  able  to  do  noth- 


360  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

ing  for  him  ; he  had  expired  in  the  sur- 
geon’s hands. 

Baretti’s  statement  made  to  the  watch 
was  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  meeting 
of  the  Academy,  and  being  very  late,  he 
was  hurrying  through  the  Haymarket 
when  a woman  jostled  him,  and  at  the 
same  instant  two  men  rushed  out  from  the 
entrance  to  Jermyn  street  and  attacked 
him  with  heavy  sticks.  One  of  the  men 
closed  with  him  to  prevent  his  drawing  his 
sword,  but  he  succeeded  in  freeing  one 
arm,  and  in  defending  himself  with  the 
small  fruit  knife  which  he  invariably  car- 
ried about  with  him,  as  was  the  custom  in 
France  and  Italy,  where  fruit  is  the  chief 
article  of  diet,  he  had  undoubtedly  stabbed 
his  assailant,  and  by  a great  mischance  he 
must  have  severed  an  artery. 

The  Bow  street  runner  who  had  seen 
the  dead  body  told  Reynolds  and  his 
friends  that  he  recognised  the  man  as  one 
Jackson,  who  had  formerly  held  a commis- 
sion in  the  army,  and  had  been  serving  in 
America,  when,  being  tried  by  court-martial 
for  some  irregularities,  he  had  been  sent  to 
England  by  Cornwallis.  He  had  been  liv- 
ing by  his  wits  for  some  months,  and  had 
recently  joined  a very  disreputable  gang, 
who  occupied  a house  in  Whetstone  Park. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  36l 

“So  far  from  our  friend  having*  been 
guilty  of  a criminal  offence,  it  seems  to  me 
that  he  has  rid  the  country  of  a vile  rogue,’’ 
said  Goldsmith. 

“If  the  jury  take  that  view  of  the  busi- 
ness they  ’ll  acquit  the  gentleman,”  said 
the  Bow  street  runner.  “But  I fancy  the 
judge  will  tell  them  that  it ’s  the  business 
of  the  hangman  only  to  rid  the  country  of 
its  rogues.” 

Goldsmith  could  not  but  perceive  that 
the  man  had  accurately  defined  the  view 
which  the  law  was  supposed  to  take  of  the 
question  of  getting  rid  of  the  rogues,  and 
his  reflections  as  he  drove  to  his  chambers, 
having  parted  from  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds 
and  Steevens,  made  him  very  unhappy.  He 
could  not  help  feeling  that  Baretti  was  the 
victim  of  his — Goldsmith’s — want  of  con- 
sideration. What  right  had  he,  he  asked 
himself,  to  drag  Baretti  into  a matter  in 
which  the  Italian  had  no  concern?  He  felt 
that  a man  of  the  world  would  certainly 
have  acted  with  more  discretion,  and  if 
anything  happened  to  Baretti  he  would 
never  forgive  himself. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

After  a very  restless  night  he  hastened 
to  Johnson,  but  found  that  Johnson  had 
already  gone  to  Garrick’s  house,  and  at 
Garrick’s  house  Goldsmith  learned  that 
Johnson  and  Garrick  had  driven  to  Edmund 
Burke’s ; so  it  was  plain  that  Baretti’s 
friends  were  losing  no  time  in  setting  about 
helping  him.  They  all  met  in  the  Bow 
Street  Police  Court,  and  Goldsmith  found 
that  Burke  had  already  instructed  a lawyer 
on  behalf  of  Baretti.  His  tender  heart  was 
greatly  moved  at  the  sight  of  Baretti  when 
the  latter  was  brought  into  court,  and  placed 
in  the  dock,  with  a constable  on  each  side. 
But  the  prisoner  himself  appeared  to  be 
quite  collected,  and  seemed  proud  of  the 
group  of  notable  persons  who  had  come  to 
show  their  friendship  for  him.  He  smiled 
at  Reynolds  and  Goldsmith,  and,  when  the 
witnesses  were  being  examined,  polished 
the  glasses  of  his  spectacles  with  the  great- 
est composure.  He  appeared  to  be  confi- 
dent that  Sir  John  Fielding  would  allow  him 
to  go  free  when  evidence  was  given  that 

362 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  363 

Jackson  had  been  a man  of  notoriously  bad 
character,  and  he  seemed  greatly  surprised 
when  the  magistrate  announced  that  he 
was  returning  him  for  trial  at  the  next 
sessions. 

Goldsmith  asked  Sir  John  Fielding  for 
permission  to  accompany  the  prisoner  in 
the  coach  that  was  taking  him  to  Newgate, 
and  his  request  was  granted. 

He  clasped  Baretti’s  hand  with  tears  in 
his  eyes  when  they  set  out  on  this  melan- 
choly drive,  saying — 

“ My  dear  friend,  I shall  never  forgive 
myself  for  having  brought  you  to  this.” 
“Psha,  sir!”  said  Baretti.  “’Tis  not 
you,  but  the  foolish  laws  of  this  country 
that  must  be  held  accountable  for  the  situa- 
tion of  the  moment.  In  what  country  except 
this  could  a thing  so  ridiculous  occur?  A 
gross  ruffian  attacks  me,  and  in  the  absence 
of  any  civil  force  for  the  protection  of  the 
people,  I am  compelled  to  protect  myself 
from  his  violence.  It  so  happens  that  in- 
stead of  the  fellow  killing  me,  I by  accident 
kill  him,  and  lo!  a pig-headed  magistrate 
sends  me  to  be  tried  for  my  life  1 Mother 
of  God ! that  is  what  is  called  the  course  of 
justice  in  this  country!  The  course  of 
idiocy  it  had  much  better  be  called!” 


364  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“Do  not  be  alarmed,”  said  Goldsmith. 
“When  you  appear  before  a judge  and  jury 
you  will  most  certainly  be  acquitted.  But 
can  you  forgive  me  for  being  the  cause  of 
this  great  inconvenience  to  you?” 

“I  can  easily  forgive  you,  having  no 
reason  to  hold  you  in  any  way  responsible 
for  this  contretemps^'''*  said  Baretti.  “But 
I cannot  forgive  that  very  foolish  person 
who  sat  on  the  Bench  at  Bow  street  and 
failed  to  perceive  that  my  act  had  saved  his 
constables  and  his  hangman  a considerable 
amount  of  trouble ! Heavens ! that  such 
carrion  as  the  fellow  whom  I killed  should 
be  regarded  sacred — as  sacred  as  though 
he  were  an  Archbishop ! Body  of  Bacchus ! 
was  there  ever  a contention  so  ridiculous?” 

“ You  will  only  be  inconvenienced  for  a 
week  or  two,  my  dear  friend,”  said  Gold- 
smith. “It  is  quite  impossible  that  you 
could  be  convicted — oh,  quite  impossible. 
You  shall  have  the  best  counsel  available, 
and  Reynolds  and  Johnson  and  Beauclerk 
will  speak  for  you.” 

But  Baretti  declined  to  be  pacified  by 
such  assurances.  He  continued  railing 
against  England  and  English  laws  until  the 
coach  arrived  at  Newgate. 

It  was  with  a very  sad  heart  that  Gold- 
smith, when  he  was  left  alone  in  the  coach, 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  365 

gave  directions  to  be  driven  to  the  Hor- 
necks’ house  in  Westminster.  On  leaving 
his  chambers  in  the  morning,  he  had  been 
uncertain  whether  it  was  right  for  him  to 
go  at  once  to  Bow  street  or  to  see  Mary 
Horneck.  He  felt  that  he  should  relieve 
Mary  from  the  distress  of  mind  from 
which  she  had  suffered  for  so  long,  but  he 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  should  let 
nothing  come  between  him  and  his  duty  in 
respect  of  the  man  who  was  suffering  by 
reason  of  his  friendship  for  him,  Gold- 
smith. Now,  however,  that  he  had  dis- 
charged his  duty  so  far  as  he  could  in 
regard  to  Baretti,  he  lost  no  time  in  going 
to  the  Jessamy  Bride. 

Mrs.  Horneck  again  met  him  in  the  hall. 
Her  face  was  very  grave,  and  the  signs  of 
recent  tears  were  visible  on  it. 

“Dear  Dr.  Goldsmith,”  she  said,  “I  am 
in  deep  distress  about  Mary.” 

“How  so,  madam?”  he  gasped,  for  a 
dreadful  thought  had  suddenly  come  to 
him.  Had  he  arrived  at  this  house  only  to 
hear  that  the  girl  was  at  the  point  of  death? 

“She  returned  from  Barton  last  night, 
seeming  even  more  depressed  than  when 
she  left  town,”  said  Mrs.  Horneck.  “But 
who  could  fancy  that  her  condition  was  so 
low  as  to  be  liable  to  such  complete  pros- 


366  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

tration  as  was  brought  about  by  my  son’s 
announcement  of  this  news  about  Signor 
Baretti  ? ” 

‘Ht  prostrated  her?” 

“Why,  when  Charles  read  out  an  ac- 
count of  the  unhappy  affair  which  is 
printed  in  one  of  the  papers,  Mary  listened 
breathlessly,  and  when  he  read  out  the 
name  of  the  man  who  was  killed,  she  sank 
from  her  chair  to  the  floor  in  a swoon,  just 
as  though  the  man  had  been  one  of  her 
friends,  instead  of  one  whom  none  of  us 
could  ever  possibly  have  met.” 

“And  now ? ” 

“ Now  she  is  lying  on  the  sofa  in  the 
drawing-room  awaiting  your  coming  with 
strange  impatience  — I told  her  that  you 
had  been  here  yesterday  and  also  the  day 
before.  She  has  been  talking  very 
strangely  since  she  awoke  from  her  faint 
— accusing  herself  of  bringing  her  friends 
into  trouble,  but  evermore  crying  out, 

‘ Why  does  he  not  come  — why  does  he  not 
come  to  tell  me  all  that  there  is  to  be  told  ? ’ 
She  meant  you,  dear  Dr.  Goldsmith.  She 
has  somehow  come  to  think  of  you  as  able 
to  soothe  her  in  this  curious  imaginary  dis- 
tress, from  which  she  is  suffering  quite  as 
acutely  as  if  it  were  a real  sorrow.  Oh,  I 
was  quite  overcome  when  I saw  the  poor 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  367 

child  lying-  as  if  she  were  dead  before  my 
eyes  ! Her  condition  is  the  more  sad,  as  1 
have  reason  to  believe  that  Colonel  Gwyn 
means  to  call  to-day.” 

“Never  mind  Colonel  Gwyn  for  the 
present,  madam,”  said  Goldsmith,  “Will 
you  have  the  g*oodness  to  lead  me  to  her 
room?  Have  I not  told  you  that  I am  con- 
fident that  I can  restore  her  to  health  ? ” 
“Ah,  Dr.  Goldsmith,  if  you  could  ! — ah, 
if  you  only  could  ! But  alas,  alas  ! ” 

He  followed  her  upstairs  to  the  draw- 
ing--room  where  he  had  had  his  last  inter- 
view with  Mary.  Even  before  the  door 
was  opened  the  sound  of  sobbing-  within 
the  room  came  to  his  ears. 

“Now,  my  dear  child,”  said  her  mother 
with  an  affectation  of  cheerfulness,  “you 
see  that  Dr.  Goldsmith  has  kept  his  word. 
He  has  come  to  his  Jessamy  Bride.” 

The  g-irl  started  up,  but  the  strug-g-le 
she  had  to  do  so  showed  him  most  pathet- 
ically how  weak  she  was. 

“Ah,  he  is  come  — he  is  come!”  she 
cried.  “ Leave  him  with  me,  mother ; he 
has  much  to  tell  me.” 

“Yes.”  said  he  ; “I  have  much.” 

Mrs.  Horneck  left  the  room  after  kiss- 
ing- the  girl’s  forehead. 


368  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

She  had  hardly  closed  the  door  before 
Mary  caug*ht  Goldsmith’s  hand  spasmodi- 
cally in  both  her  own  — he  felt  how  they 
were  trembling-  — as  she  cried  — 

“The  terrible  thing  that  has  happened  1 
He  is  dead  — you  know  it,  of  course?  Oh,  it 
is  terrible  — terrible!  But  the  letters!  — 
they  will  be  found  upon  him  or  at  the  place 
where  he  lived,  and  it  will  be  impossible  to 
keep  my  secret  long-er.  Will  his  friends  — 
he  had  evil  friends,  I know — will  they  print 
them,  do  you  think?  Ah,  I see  by  your  face 
that  you  believe  they  will  print  the  letters, 
and  I shall  be  undone  — undone.” 

“My  dear,”  he  said,  “you  might  be  able 
to  bear  the  worst  news  that  I could  bring 
you;  but  will  you  be  able  to  bear  the  best?” 
“ The  best ! Ah,  what  is  the  best  ?” 

“It  is  more  difficult  to  prepare  for  the 
best  than  for  the  worst,  my  child.  You  are 
very  weak,  but  you  must  not  give  way  to 
your  weakness.” 

She  stared  at  him  with  wistful,  expect- 
ant eyes.  Her  hands  were  clasped  more 
tightly  than  ever  upon  his  own.  He  saw 
that  she  was  trying  to  speak,  but  failing  to 
utter  a single  word. 

He  waited  for  a few  moments  and  then 
drew  out  of  his  pocket  the  packet  of  her 
letters,  and  gave  it  to  her.  She  looked  at  it 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  369 

strang*ely  for  certainly  a minute.  She  could 
not  realise  the  truth.  She  could  only  g*aze 
mutely  at  the  packet.  He  perceived  that 
that  gradual  dawning  of  the  truth  upon  her 
meant  the  saving  of  her  life.  He  knew  that 
she  would  not  now  be  overwhelmed  with 
the  joy  of  being  saved. 

Then  she  gave  a sudden  cry.  The  let- 
ters dropped  from  her  hand.  She  flung 
her  arms  around  his  neck  and  kissed  him 
again  and  again  on  the  cheeks.  Quite  as 
suddenly  she  ceased  kissing  him  and 
laughed  — not  hysterically,  but  joyously, 
as  she  sprang  to  her  feet  with,  scarcely  an 
effort  and  walked  across  the  room  to  the 
window  that  looked  upon  the  street.  He 
followed  her  with  his  eyes  and  saw  her  gaz- 
ing out.  Then  she  turned  round  with  an- 
other laugh  that  rippled  through  the  room. 
How  long  was  it  since  he  had  heard  her 
laugh  in  that  way? 

She  came  toward  him,  and  then  he  knew 
that  he  had  had  his  reward,  for  her  cheeks 
that  had  been  white  were  now  glowing  with 
the  roses  of  June,  and  her  eyes  that  had 
been  dim  were  sparkling  with  gladness. 

‘‘Ah,”  she  cried,  putting  out  both  her 
hands  to  him.  “Ah,  I knew  that  I was  right 
in  telling  you  my  secret,  and  in  asking  you 
to  help  me.  I knew  that  you  would  not  fail 


370  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

me  in  my  hour  of  need,  and  you  shall  be 
dear  to  me  for  evermore  for  having  helped 
me.  There  is  no  one  in  the  world  like  you, 
dear  Oliver  Goldsmith.  I have  always  felt 
that  — so  good,  so  true,  so  full  of  tender- 
ness and  that  sweet  simplicity  which  has 
made  the  greatest  and  best  people  in  the 
world  love  you,  as  I love  you,  dear,  dear 
friend!  O,  you  are  a friend  to  be  trusted  — 
a friend  who  would  be  ready  to  die  for  his 
friend.  Gratitude  — you  do  not  want  grat- 
itude. It  is  well  that  you  do  not  want  grat- 
itude, for  what  could  gratitude  say  to  you 
for  what  you  have  done?  You  have  saved 
me  from  death  — from  worse  than  death  — 
and  I know  that  the  thought  that  you  have 
done  so  will  be  your  greatest  reward.  I 
will  always  be  near  you,  that  you  may  see 
me  and  feel  that  I live  only  because  you 
stretched  out  your  kind  hand  and  drew  me 
out  of  the  deep  waters  — the  waters  that 
had  well-nigh  closed  over  my  head.” 

He  sat  before  her,  looking  up  to  the  sweet 
face  that  looked  down  upon  him.  His  eyes 
were  full  of  tears.  The  world  had  dealt 
hardly  with  him  ; but  he  felt  that  his  life 
had  not  been  wholly  barren  of  gladness, 
since  he  had  lived  to  see  — even  through 
the  dimness  of  tears  — so  sweet  a face  look- 
ing into  his  own  with  eyes  full  of  the  light 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  371 

of  — was  it  the  gratitude  of  a girl?  Was  it 
the  love  of  a woman? 

He  could  not  speak.  He  could  not  even 
return  the  pressure  of  the  small  hands 
that  clasped  his  own  with  all  the  gracious 
pressure  of  the  tendrils  of  a climbing 
flower. 

“Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me — no 
word  to  give  me  at  this  moment?”  she  asked 
in  a whisper,  and  her  head  was  bent  closer 
to  his,  and  her  fingers  seemed  to  him  to 
tighten  somewhat  around  his  own. 

“ What  word?”  said  he.  “Ah,  my  child, 
what  word  should  come  from  such  a man  as 
I to  such  a woman  as  you?  No,  I have  no 
word.  Such  complete  happiness  as  is  mine 
at  this  moment  does  not  seek  to  find  ex- 
pression in  words.  You  have  given  me  such 
happiness  as  I never  hoped  for  in  my  life. 
You  have  understood  me — you  alone,  and 
that  to  such  as  I means  happiness.” 

She  dropped  his  hands  so  suddenly  as 
almost  to  suggest  that  she  had  flung  them 
away  from  her.  She  took  an  impatient  step 
or  two  in  the  direction  of  the  window. 

“You  talk  of  my  understanding  you,” 
she  said  in  a voice  that  had  a sob  in  it. 
“Yes,  but  have  you  no  thought  of  under- 
standing me?  Is  it  only  a man’s  nature 


372  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

that  is  worth  trying*  to  understand?  Is  a 
woman’s  not  worthy  of  a thought?” 

He  started  up  and  seemed  about  to 
stretch  his  arms  out  to  her,  but  with  a 
sudden  drawing  in  of  his  breath  he  put  his 
hands  behind  his  back  and  locked  the 
fingers  of  both  together. 

Thus  he  stood  looking  at  her  while  she 
had  her  face  averted,  not  knowing  the 
struggle  that  was  going  on  between  the  two 
powers  that  are  ever  in  the  throes  of  con- 
flict within  the  heart  of  a man  who  loves  a 
woman  well  enough  to  have  no  thought  of 
himself  — no  thought  except  for  her  hap- 
piness. 

‘‘No,”  he  said  at  last.  “No,  my  dear, 
dear  child ; I have  no  word  to  say  to  you  1 
I fear  to  speak  a word.  The  happiness  that 
a man  builds  up  for  himself  may  be  de- 
stroyed by  the  utterance  of  one  word,  I 
wish  to  remain  happy — watching  your  hap- 
piness— in  silence.  Perhaps  I may  under- 
stand you — I may  understand  something 
of  the  thought  which  gratitude  suggests 
to  you.” 

“ Ah,  gratitude!”  said  she  in  a tone  that 
was  sad  even  in  its  scornfulness.  She  had 
not  turned  her  head  toward  him. 

“Yes,  I may  understand  something  of 
your  nature — the  sweetest,  the  tenderest 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  373 

that  ever  made  a v^oman  blessed ; but  I 
understand  myself  better,  and  I know  in 
what  direction  lies  my  happiness — in  what 
direction  lies  your  happiness.” 

“Ah!  are  you  sure  that  they  are  two — 
that  they  are  separate?”  said  she.  And  now 
she  moved  her  head  slowly  so  that  she  was 
looking  into  his  face. 

There  was  a long  pause.  She  could  not 
see  the  movement  of  his  hands.  He  still 
held  them  behind  him.  At  last  he  said 
slowly — 

“ I am  sure,  my  dear  one.  Ah,  I am  but 
too  sure.  Would  to  God  there  were  a chance 
of  my  being  mistaken ! Ah,  dear,  dear 
child,  it  is  my  lot  to  look  on  happiness 
through  another  man’s  eyes.  And,  believe 
me,  there  is  more  happiness  in  doing  so 
than  the  world  knows  of.  No,  no!  Do  not 
speak — for  God’s  sake,  do  not  speak  to  me! 
Do  not  say  those  words  which  are  trem- 
bling on  your  lips,  for  they  mean  un- 
happiness to  both  of  us.” 

She  continued  looking  at  him;  then  sud- 
denly, with  a little  cry,  she  turned  away, 
and  throwing  herself  down  on  the  sofa, 
burst  into  tears,  with  her  face  upon  one  of 
the  arms,  which  her  hands  held  tightly. 

After  a time  he  went  to  her  side  and  laid 
a hand  upon  her  hair* 


374  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

She  raised  her  head  and  looked  up  to 
him  with  streaming  eyes.  She  put  a hand 
out  to  him,  saying  in  a low  but  clear  voice — 

“You  are  right.  Oh,  I know  you  are 
right.  I will  not  speak  that  word ; but  I can 
never  — never  cease  to  think  of  you  as  the 
best  — the  noblest  — the  truest  of  men. 
You  have  been  my  best  friend  — my  only 
friend  — and  there  is  no  dearer  name  that  a 
man  can  be  called  by  a woman.” 

He  bent  his  head  and  kissed  her  on  the 
forehead,  but  spoke  no  word. 

A moment  afterwards  Mrs.  Horneck 
entered  the  room. 

“Oh,  mother,  mother!”  cried  the  girl, 
starting  up,  “I  knew  that  I was  right  — I 
knew  that  Dr.  Goldsmith  would  be  able  to 
help  me.  Ah,  I am  a new  girl  since  he  came 
to  see  me.  I feel  that  I am  well  once  more 
— that  I shall  never  be  ill  again!  Oh,  he  is 
the  best  doctor  in  the  world ! ” 

“Why,  what  a transformation  there  is 
already!”  said  her  mother.  “Ah,  Dr. 
Goldsmith  was  always  my  dear  girl’s 
friend!  ” 

“ Friend  — friend ! ” she  said  slowly, 
almost  gravely.  “Yes,  he  was  always  my 
friend,  and  he  will  be  so  forever — my 
friend  — our  friend.” 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  375 

“Always,  always,”  said  Mrs.  Horneck. 
“lam  doubly  glad  to  find  that  you  have  cast 
away  your  fit  of  melancholy,  my  dear, 
because  Colonel  Gwyn  has  j ust  called  and 
expresses  the  deepest  anxiety  regarding 
your  condition.  May  I not  ask  him  to  come 
up  in  order  that  his  mind  may  be  relieved 
by  seeing  you?  ” 

“No,  no!  I will  not  see  Colonel  Gwyn 
to-day,”  cried  the  girl.  “Send  him  away 
— send  him  away.  I do  not  want  to  see 
him.  I want  to  see  no  one  but  our  good 
friend  Oliver  Goldsmith.  Ah,  what  did 
Colonel  Gwyn  ever  do  for  me  that  I should 
wish  to  see  him?  ” 

“ My  dear  Mary ” 

“Send  him  away,  dear  mother.  I tell 
you  that  indeed  I am  not  yet  sufficiently 
recovered  to  be  able  to  have  a visitor.  Dr. 
Goldsmith  has  not  yet  given  me  a good 
laugh,  and  till  you  come  and  find  us  laugh- 
ing together  as  we  used  to  laugh  in  the  old 
days,  you  cannot  say  that  I am  myself 
again.” 

“ I will  not  do  anything  against  your  in- 
clinations, child,”  said  Mrs.  Horneck.  “I 
will  tell  Colonel  Gwyn  to  renew  his  visit  to 
you  next  week.” 

“Do,  dear  mother,”  cried  the  girl, 
laughing.  “Say  next  week,  or  next  year, 


376  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

sweetest  of  mothers,  or  — best  of  all  — say 
that  he  had  better  come  by  and  by,  and  then 
add,  in  the  true  style  of  Mr.  Garrick,  that 
‘ by  and  by  is  easily  said.’  ” 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

As  he  went  to  his  chambers  to  dress  be- 
fore g’oing*  to  dine  with  the  Dillys  in  the 
Poultry,  Goldsmith  was  happier  than  he 
had  been  for  years.  He  had  seen  the  light 
return  to  the  face  that  he  loved  more  than 
all  the  faces  in  the  world,  and  he  had  been 
strong  enough  to  put  aside  the  temptation 
to  hear  her  confess  that  she  returned  the 
love  which  he  bore  her,  but  which  he  had 
never  confessed  to  her.  He  felt  happy  to 
know  that  the  friendship  which  had  been 
so  great  a consolation  to  him  for  several 
years — the  friendship  for  the  family  who 
had  been  so  good  and  so  considerate  to 
him — was  the  same  now  as  it  had  always 
been.  He  felt  happy  in  the  reflection  that 
he  had  spoken  no  word  that  would  tend  to 
jeopardise  that  friendship.  He  had  seen 
enough  of  the  world  to  be  made  aware  of 
the  fact  that  there  is  no  more  potent  de- 
stroyer of  friendship  than  love.  He  had 
put  aside  the  temptation  to  speak  a word  of 
love;  nay,  he  had  prevented  her  from 
speaking  what  he  believed  would  be  a word 

377 


378  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

of  love,  although  the  speaking  of  that  word 
would  have  been  the  sweetest  sound  that 
had  ever  fallen  upon  his  ears. 

And  that  was  how  he  came  to  feel  happy. 

And  yet,  that  same  night,  when  he  was 
sitting  alone  in  his  room,  he  found  a de- 
light in  adding  to  that  bundle  of  manu- 
scripts which  he  had  dedicated  to  her  and 
which  some  weeks  before  he  had  designed 
to  destroy.  He  added  poem  after  poem  to 
the  verses  which  Johnson  had  rightly  inter- 
preted— verses  pulsating  with  the  love 
that  was  in  his  heart — verses  which  Mary 
Horneck  could  not  fail  to  interpret  aright 
should  they  ever  come  before  her  eyes. 

“But  they  shall  never  come  before  her 
eyes,”  he  said.  “Ah,  never  — never!  It 
is  in  my  power  to  avert  at  least  that  un- 
happiness from  her  life.” 

And  yet  before  he  went  to  sleep  he  had 
a thought  that  perhaps  one  day  she  might 
read  those  verses  of  his  — yes,  perhaps  one 
day.  He  wondered  if  that  day  was  far  off 
or  nigh. 

When  he  had  been  by  her  side,  after 
Colonel  Gwyn  had  left  the  house,  he  had 
told  her  the  story  of  the  recovery  of  her 
letters;  he  did  not,  however,  think  it  neces- 
sary to  tell  her  how  the  man  had  come  to 
entertain  his  animosity  to  Baretti;  and  she 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  379 

thus  regarded  the  latter’s  killing  of  Jack- 
son  as  an  accident. 

After  the  lapse  of  a day  or  two  he  began 
to  think  if  it  might  not  be  well  for  him  to 
consult  with  Edmund  Burke  as  to  whether 
it  would  be  to  the  advantage  of  Baretti  or 
otherwise  to  submit  evidence  as  to  the 
threats  made  use  of  by  Jackson  in  regard 
to  Baretti.  He  thought  that  it  might  be 
possible  to  do  so  without  introducing  the 
name  of  Mary  Horneck.  But  Burke,  after 
hearing  the  story — no  mention  of  the  name 
of  Mary  Horneck  being  made  by  Goldsmith 
— came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  would  be 
unwise  to  introduce  at  the  trial  any  ques- 
tion of  animosity  on  the  part  of  the  man 
who  had  been  killed,  lest  the  jury  might  be 
led  to  infer  — as,  indeed,  they  might  have 
some  sort  of  reason  for  doing  — that  the 
animosity  on  Jackson’s  part  meant  animos- 
ity on  Baretti’s  part.  Burke  considered 
that  a defence  founded  upon  the  plea  of  ac- 
cident was  the  one  which  was  most  likely 
to  succeed  in  obtaining  from  a jury  a ver- 
dict of  acquittal.  If  it  could  be  shown  that 
the  man  had  attacked  Baretti  as  impu- 
dently as  some  of  the  witnesses  for  the 
Crown  were  ready  to  admit  that  he  did, 
Burke  and  his  legal  advisers  thought  that 


380  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

the  prisoner  had  a good  chance  of  obtaining 
a verdict. 

The  fact  that  neither  Burke  nor  any  one 
else  spoke  with  confidence  of  the  acquittal 
had,  however,  a deep  effect  upon  Gold- 
smith. His  sanguine  nature  had  caused 
him  from  the  first  to  feel  certain  of  Baretti’s 
safety,  and  any  one  who  reads  nowadays  an 
account  of  the  celebrated  trial  would  un- 
doubtedly be  inclined  to  think  that  his  feel- 
ing in  this  matter  was  fully  justified.  That 
there  should  have  been  any  suggestion  of 
premeditation  in  the  unfortunate  act  of 
self-defence  on  the  part  of  Baretti  seems 
amazing  to  a modern  reader  of  the  case  as 
stated  by  the  Crown.  But  as  Edmund 
Burke  stated  about  that  time  in  the  House 
of  Commons,  England  was  a gigantic  sham- 
bles. The  barest  evidence  against  a pris- 
oner was  considered  sufficient  to  bring  him 
to  the  gallows  for  an  offence  which  nowa- 
days, if  proved  against  him  on  unmistak- 
able testimony,  would  only  entail  his  incar- 
ceration for  a week.  Women  were  hanged 
for  stealing  bread  to  keep  their  children 
from  that  starvation  which  was  the  result 
of  the  kidnapping  of  their  husbands  to 
serve  in  the  navy;  and  yet  Burke’s  was  the 
only  influential  voice  that  was  lifted  up 
against  a system  in  comparison  with  which 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  381 

slavery  was  not  only  tolerable,  but  com- 
mendable. 

Baretti  was  indeed  the  only  one  of  that 
famous  circle  of  which  Johnson  was  the 
centre,  who  felt  confident  that  he  would  be 
acquitted.  For  all  his  railing*  against  the 
detestable  laws  of  the  detestable  coun- 
try— which,  however,  he  found  preferable 
to  his  own  — he  ridiculed  the  possibility  of 
his  being*  found  g*uilty.  It  was  Johnson 
who  considered  it  within  the  bounds  of  his 
duty  to  make  the  Italian  understand  that, 
however  absurd  was  the  notion  of  his  being 
carted  to  the  gallows,  the  likelihood  was 
that  he  would  experience  the  feelings  inci- 
dental to  such  an  excursion. 

He  went  full  of  this  intention  with 
Reynolds  to  visit  the  prisoner  at  Newgate, 
and  it  may  be  taken  for  granted  that  he 
discharged  his  duty  with  his  usual  em- 
phasis. It  is  recorded,  however,  on  the 
excellent  authority  of  Boswell,  that  Baretti 
was  quite  unmoved  by  the  admonition  of 
the  sage. 

It  is  also  on  authority  of  Boswell  that 
we  learn  that  Johnson  was  guilty  of  what 
appears  to  us  nowadays  as  a very  gross 
breach  of  good  taste  as  well  as  of  good  feel- 
ing, when,  on  the  question  of  the  likelihood 
of  Baretti’s  failing  to  obtain  a verdict  being 


382  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

discussed,  he  declared  that  if  one  of  his 
friends  were  fairly  hang*ed  he  should  not 
suffer,  but  eat  his  dinner  just  the  same  as 
usual.  It  is  fortunate,  however,  that  we 
know  something*  of  the  systems  adopted  by 
Johnson  when  pestered  by  the  idiotic  in- 
sistence of  certain  trivial  matters  by  Bos- 
well, and  the  record  of  Johnson’s  pretence 
to  appear  a callous  man  of  the  world  prob- 
ably deceived  no  one  in  the  world  except 
the  one  man  whom  it  was  meant  to  silence. 

But,  however  callous  Dr.  Johnson  may 
have  pretended  to  be  — however  insincere 
Tom  Davis  the  bookseller  may  — accord- 
ing*^ to  Johnson  — have  been,  there  can  be 
no  doubt  that  poor  Goldsmith  was  in  great 
trepidation*  until  the  trial  was  over.  He 
gave  evidence  in  favour  of  Baretti,  though 
Boswell,  true  to  his  detestation  of  the  man 
against  whom  he  entertained  an  envy  that 
showed  itself  every  time  he  mentioned  his 
name,  declined  to  mention  this  fact,  taking 
care,  however,  that  Johnson  got  full  credit 
for  appearing  in  the  witness-box  with 
Burke,  Garrick  and  Beauclerk. 

Baretti  was  acquitted,  the  jury  being 
satisfied  that,  as  the  fruit-knife  was  a 
weapon  which  was  constantly  carried  by 
Frenchmen  and  Italians,  they  might  possi- 
bly go  so  far  as  to  assume  that  it  had  not 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  383 

been  bought  by  the  prisoner  solely  with 
the  intention  of  murdering  the  man  who 
had  attacked  him  in  the  Haymarket.  The 
carrying  of  the  fruit-knife  seems  rather  a 
strange  turning-point  of  a case  heard  at  a 
period  when  the  law  permitted  men  to 
carry  swords  presumably  for  their  own 
protection. 

Goldsmith’s  mind  was  set  at  ease  by 
the  acquittal  of  Baretti,  and  he  joined  in 
the  many  attempts  that  were  made  to 
show  the  sympathy  which  was  felt  — or,  as 
Boswell  would  have  us  believe  Johnson 
thought,  was  simulated  — by  his  friends 
for  Baretti.  He  gave  a dinner  in  honour 
of  the  acquittal,  inviting  Johnson,  Burke, 
Garrick,  and  a few  others  of  the  circle,  and 
he  proposed  the  health  of  their  guest, 
which,  he  said,  had  not  been  so  robust  of 
late  as  to  give  all  his  friends  an  assurance 
that  he  would  live  to  a ripe  old  age.  He 
also  toasted  the  jury  and  the  counsel,  as 
well  as  the  turnkeys  of  Newgate  and  the 
usher  of  the  Old  Bailey. 

When  the  trial  was  over,  however,  he 
showed  that  the  strain  to  which  he  had 
been  subjected  was  too  great  for  him.  His 
health  broke  down,  and  he  was  compelled 
to  leave  his  chambers  and  hurry  off  to  his 
cottage  on  the  Edgware  Road,  hoping  to  be 


384  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

benefitted  by  the  chang*e  to  the  country,  and 
trusting-  also  to  be  able  to  make  some  prog- 
ress with  the  many  works  which  he  had 
engaged  himself  to  complete  for  the  book- 
sellers. He  had,  in  addition,  his  comedy  to 
write  for  Garrick,  and  he  was  not  unmind- 
ful of  his  promise  to  give  Mrs.  Abington  a 
part  worthy  of  her  acceptance. 

He  returned  at  rare  intervals  to  town, 
and  never  failed  at  such  times  to  see  his 
Jessamy  Bride,  with  whom  he  had  resumed 
his  old  relations  of  friendship.  When  she 
visited  her  sister  at  Barton  she  wrote  to 
him  in  her  usual  high  spirits.  Little  Com- 
edy also  sent  him  letters  full  of  the  fun  in 
which  she  delighted  to  indulge  with  him, 
and  he  was  never  too  busy  to  reply  in  the 
same  strain.  The  pleasant  circle  at  Bun- 
bury’s  country  house  wished  to  have  him 
once  again  in  their  midst,  to  join  in  their 
pranks,  and  to  submit,  as  he  did  with  such 
good  will,  to  their  practical  jests. 

He  did  not  go  to  Barton.  He  had  made 
up  his  mind  that  that  was  one  of  the  pleas- 
ures of  life  which  he  should  forego.  At 
Barton  he  knew  that  he  would  see  Mary  day 
by  day,  and  he  could  not  trust  himself  to  be 
near  her  constantly  and  yet  refrain  from 
saying  the  words  which  would  make  both 
of  them  miserable.  He  had  conquered  him- 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  385 

self  once,  but  he  was  not  sure  that  he  would 
be  as  strong-  a second  time. 

This  perpetual  struggle  in  which  he  was 
engaged  — this  constant  endeavour  to  crush 
out  of  his  life  the  passion  which  alone  made 
life  endurable  to  him,  left  him  worn  and 
weak,  so  it  was  not  surprising  that,  when  a 
coach  drove  up  to  his  cottage  one  day, 
after  many  months  had  passed,  and  Mrs. 
Horneck  stepped  out,  she  was  greatly 
shocked  at  the  change  which  was  apparent 
in  his  appearance. 

“Good  heaven,  Dr.  Goldsmith!”  she 
cried  when  she  entered  his  little  parlour, 
“ you  are  killing  yourself  by  your  hard 
work.  Sir  Joshua  said  he  was  extremely 
apprehensive  in  regard  to  your  health  the 
last  time  he  saw  you,  but  were  he  to  see 
you  now,  he  would  be  not  merely  apprehens- 
ive but  despairing.” 

“Nay,  my  dear  madam,”  he  said.  “I 
am  only  suffering  from  a slight  attack  of  an 
old  enemy  of  mine.  I am  not  so  strong  as 
I used  to  be ; but  let  me  assure  you  that  I 
feel  much  better  since  you  have  been  good 
enough  to  give  me  an  opportunity  of  seeing 
you  at  my  humble  home.  When  I caught 
sight  of  you  stepping  out  of  the  coach  I 
received  a great  shock  for  a moment;  I 


386  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

feared  that  — ah,  I cannot  tell  you  all  that 
I feared.” 

“However  shocked  you  were,  dear  Dr. 
Goldsmith,  you  were  not  so  shocked  as  I 
was  when  you  appeared  before  me,”  said 
the  lady.  “Why,  dear  sir,  you  are  killing* 
yourself.  Oh,  we  must  chang-e  all  this.  You 
have  no  one  here  to  give  you  the  attention 
which  your  condition  requires.” 

“What,  madam!  Am  not  I a physician 
myself?”  said  the  Doctor,  making  a pitiful 
attempt  to  assume  his  old  manner. 

“Ah,  sir!  every  moment  I am  more 
shocked,”  said  she.  “I  will  take  you  in 
hand.  I came  here  to  beg  of  you  to  go  to 
Barton  in  my  interests,  but  now  I will  beg 
of  you  to  go  thither  in  your  own.” 

“To Barton?  Oh,  my  dear  madam ” 

“Nay,  sir,  I insist!  Ah!  I might  have 
known  you  better  than  to  fancy  I should 
easier  prevail  upon  you  by  asking  you  to  go 
to  advance  your  own  interests  rather  than 
mine.  You  were  always  more  ready  to  help 
others  than  to  help  yourself.” 

“ How  is  it  possible,  dear  lady,  that  you 
need  my  poor  help?” 

“Ah!  I knew  the  best  way  to  interest 
you.  Dear  friend,  I know  of  no  one  who 
could  be  of  the  same  help  to  us  as  you.” 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  387 

“There  is  no  one  who  would  be  more 
willing-,  madam.” 

“ You  have  proved  it  long-  ag-o,  Dr.  Gold- 
smith. When  Mary  had  that  mysterious 
indisposition,  was  not  her  recovery  due  to 
you?  She  announced  that  it  was  you,  and 
you  only,  who  had  brought  her  back  to 
life.” 

“Ah!  my  dear  Jessamy  Bride  was  al- 
ways generous.  Surely  she  is  not  again  in 
need  of  my  help.  ” 

“It  is  for  her  sake  I come  to  you  to-day, 
Dr.  Goldsmith.  I am  sure  that  you  are 
interested  in  her  future — in  the  happiness 
which  we  all  are  anxious  to  secure  for 
her.” 

“Happiness?  What  happiness,  dear 
madam?” 

“I  will  tell  you,  sir.  I look  on  you  as 
one  of  our  family — nay,  I can  talk  with  you 
more  confidentially  than  I can  with  my  own 
son.” 

“You  have  ever  been  indulgent  to  me, 
Mrs.  Horneck.” 

“And  you  have  ever  been  generous,  sir; 
that  is  why  I am  here  to-day.  I know  that 
Mary  writes  to  you.  I wonder  if  she  has 
yet  told  you  that  Colonel  Gwyn  made  her 
an  offer  with  my  consent.” 

“ No;  she  has  not  told  me  that.” 


388  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

He  spoke  slowly,  rising*  from  his  chair, 
but  endeavoring*  to  restrain  the  emotion 
which  he  felt. 

“It  is  not  unlike  Mary  to  treat  the  mat- 
ter as  if  it  were  finally  settled,  and  so  not 
worthy  of  another  thoug*ht,”  said  Mrs. 
Horneck. 

“Finally  settled?”  repeated  Goldsmith. 
“Then  she  has  accepted  Colonel  Gwyn’s 
proposal?” 

“On  the  contrary,  sir,  she  rejected  it,” 
said  the  mother, 

He  resumed  his  seat.  Was  the  emotion 
which  he  experienced  at  that  moment  one 
of  g*ladness? 

“ Yes,  she  rejected  a suitor  whom  we  all 
considered  most  eligible,”  said  the  lady. 
“Colonel  Gwyn  is  a man  of  good  family, 
and  his  own  character  is  irreproachable. 
He  is  in  every  respect  a most  admirable 
man,  and  I am  convinced  that  my  dear 
child’s  happiness  would  be  assured  with 
him — ^^and  yet  she  sends  him  away  from 
her.” 

“That  is  possibly  because  she  knows 
her  own  mind — her  own  heart,  I should 
rather  say;  and  that  heart  the  purest  in 
the  world.” 

“Alas!  she  is  but  a girl.” 

“Nay,  to  my  mind,  she  is  something 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  389 

more  than  a girl.  No  man  that  lives  is 
worthy  of  her.” 

“ That  may  be  true,  dear  friend ; but  no 
girl  would  thank  you  to  act  too  rigidly  on 
that  assumption  — an  assumption  which 
would  condemn  her  to  live  and  die  an  old 
maid.  Now,  my  dear  Dr.  Goldsmith,  I want 
you  to  take  a practical  and  not  a poetical 
view  of  a matter  which  so  closely  concerns 
the  future  of  one  who  is  dear  to  me,  and  in 
whom  I am  sure  you  take  a great  interest.” 
‘‘I  would  do  anything  for  her  happi- 
ness.” 

“I  know  it.  Well  you  have  long  been 
aware,  I am  sure,  that  she  regards  you  with 
the  greatest  respect  and  esteem — nay,  if  I 
may  say  it,  with  affection  as  well.” 

“Ah!  afifection — affection  for  me?” 

“ You  know  it.  If  you  were  her  brother 
she  could  not  have  a warmer  regard  for 
you.  And  that  is  why  I have  come  to  you 
to-day  to  beg  of  you  to  yield  to  the  entreat- 
ies of  your  friends  at  Barton  and  pay  them 
a visit.  Mary  is  there,  and  I hope  you  will 
see  your  way  to  use  your  influence  with  her 
on  behalf  of  Colonel  Gwyn.” 

“What!  I,  madam?” 

“Has  my  suggestion  startled  you?  It 
should  not  have  done  so.  I tell  you,  my 
friend,  there  is  no  one  to  whom  I could  go 


390  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

in  this  way,  saving  yourself.  Indeed,  there 
is  no  one  else  who  would  be  worth  going  to, 
for  no  one  possesses  the  influence  over  her 
that  you  have  always  had.  I am  convinced, 
Dr.  Goldsmith,  that  she  would  listen  to  your 
persuasion  while  turning  a deaf  ear  to  that 
of  any  one  else.  Ybu  will  lend  us  your 
influence,  will  you  not,  dear  friend?” 

“I  must  have  time  to  think — to  think. 
How  can  I answer  you  at  once  in  this  mat- 
ter? Ah,  you  cannot  know  what  my  decision 
means  to  me.” 

He  had  left  his  chair  once  more  and  was 
standing  against  the  fireplace  looking  into 
the  empty  grate. 

“You  are  wrong,”  she  said  in  a low 
tone.  “You  are  wrong;  I know  what  is  in 
your  thoughts — in  your  heart.  You  fear 
that  if  Mary  were  married  she  would  stand 
on  a different  footing  in  respect  to  you.” 

“ Ah  ! a different  footing  ! ” 

“ I think  that  you  are  in  error  in  that  re- 
spect,” said  the  lady.  “Marriage  is  not 
such  a change  as  some  people  seem  to  fancy 
it  is.  Is  not  Katherine  the  same  to  you 
now  as  she  was  before  she  married  Charles 
Bunbury ?” 

He  looked  at  her  with  a little  smile  upon 
his  face.  How  little  she  knew  of  what  was 
in  his  heart  I 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  39l 

“Ah,  yes,  my  dear  Little  Comedy  is 
unchanged,”  said  he. 

“And  your  Jessamy  Bride  would  be 
equally  unchanged,”  said  Mrs.  Horneck. 

“But  where  lies  the  need  for  her  to 
marry  at  once?”  he  inquired.  “If  she 
were  in  love  with  Colonel  Gwyn  there 
would  be  no  reason  why  they  should  not 
marry  at  once;  but  if  she  does  not  love  him 

jy 

“Who  can  say  that  she  does  not  love 
him?”  cried  the  lady.  “Oh,  my  dear  Dr. 
Goldsmith,  a young  woman  is  herself  the 
worst  judge  in  all  the  world  of  whether  or 
not  she  loves  one  particular  man.  I give 
you  my  word,  sir,  I was  married  for  five 
years  before  I knew  that  I loved  my  hus- 
band. When  I married  him  I know  that  I 
was  under  the  impression  that  I actually 
disliked  him.  Marriages  are  made  in 
heaven,  they  say,  and  very  properly,  for 
heaven  only  knows  whether  a woman  really 
loves  a man,  and  a man  a woman.  Neither 
of  the  persons  in  the  contract  is  capable  of 
pronouncing  a just  opinion  on  the  subject.” 

“ I think  that  Mary  should  know  what  is 
in  her  own  heart.” 

“Alas  ! alas  ! I fear  for  her.  It  is  be- 
cause I fear  for  her  I am  desirous  of  seeing 
her  married  to  a good  man  — a man  with 


392  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

whom  her  future  happiness  would  be  as- 
sured. You  have  talked  of  her  heart,  my 
friend;  alas!  that  is  just  why  I fear  for 
her.  I know  how  her  heart  dominates  her 
life  and  prevents  her  from  exercising-  her 
judgment.  A girl  who  is  ruled  by  her 
heart  is  in  a perilous  way.  I wonder  if  she 
told  you  what  her  uncle,  with  whom  she 
was  sojourning  in  Devonshire,  told  me 
about  her  meeting  a certain  man  there  — 
my  brother  did  not  make  me  acquainted 
with  his  name  — and  being  so  carried  away 
with  some  plausible  story  he  told  that  she 
actually  fancied  herself  in  love  with  him  — 
actually,  until  my  brother,  learning  that 
the  man  was  a disreputable  fellow,  put  a 
stop  to  an  affair  that  could  only  have  had  a 
disastrous  ending.  Ah  ! her  heart  ” 

“Yes,  she  told  me  all  that.  Undoubtedly 
she  is  dominated  by  her  heart.” 

“That  is,  I repeat,  why  I tremble  for 
her  future.  If  she  were  to  meet  at  some 
time,  when  perhaps  I might  not  be  near  her, 
another  adventurer  like  the  fellow  whom 
she  met  in  Devonshire,  who  can  say  that 
she  would  not  fancy  she  loved  him  ? What 
disaster  might  result ! Dear  friend,  would 
you  desire  to  save  her  from  the  fate  of  your 
Olivia?” 

There  was  a long  pause  before  he  said— ^ 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  393 

“Madam,  I will  do  as  you  ask  me.  I 
will  g*o  to  Mary  and  endeavour  to  point  out 
to  her  that  it  is  her  duty  to  marry  Colonel 
Gwyn.’’ 

“I  knew  you  would  g'rant  my  request, 
my  dear,  dear  friend,”  cried  the  mother, 
catching*  his  hand  and  pressing*  it.  “ But  I 
would  ask  of  you  not  to  put  the  proposal  to 
her  quite  in  that  way.  To  sugg*est  that  a 
girl  with  a heart  should  marry  a particular 
man  because  h^r  duty  lies  in  that  direction 
would  be  foolishness  itself.  Duty?  The 
word  is  abhorrent  to  the  ear  of  a young 
woman  whose  heart  is  ripe  for  love.” 

“You  are  a woman.” 

“I  am  one  indeed;  I know  what  are 
a woman’s  thoughts  — her  longings  — her 
hopes  — and  alas!  her  self-deceptions.  A 
woman’s  heart  — ah.  Dr.  Goldsmith,  you 
once  put  into  a few  lines  the  whole  tragedy 
of  a woman’s  life.  What  experience  was 
it  urged  you  to  write  those  lines?  — 

‘ When  lovely  woman  stoops  to  folly. 

And  finds  too  late  . . . ’ 

To  think  that  one  day,  perhaps  a child  of 
mine  should  sing  that  song  of  poor  Olivia!  ” 
He  did  not  tell  her  that  Mary  had  al- 
ready quoted  the  lines  in  his  hearing.  He 
bowed  his  head,  saying  — 

“I  will  go  to  her.” 


394  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“You  will  be  saving*  her  — ah,  sir,  will 
you  not  be  saving*  yourself,”  cried  Mrs. 
Horneck. 

He  started  slightly. 

“ Saving  myself?  What  can  your  mean- 
ing be,  Mrs.  Horneck?  ” 

“I  tell  you  I was  shocked  beyond  meas- 
ure when  I entered  this  room  and  saw  you,” 
she  replied.  “ You  are  ill,  sir;  you  are  very 
ill,  and  the  change  to  the  garden  at  Barton 
will  do  you  good.  You  have  been  neglect- 
ing yourself  — yes,  and  some  one  who  will 
nurse  you  back  to  life.  Oh,  Barton  is  the 
place  for  you!  ” 

“There  is  no  place  I should  like  better 
to  die  at,”  said  he. 

“To  die  at?”  she  said.  “Nonsense, 
sir!  you  are  I trust,  far  from  death  still. 
Nay,  you  will  find  life,  and  not  death,  there. 
Life  is  there  for  you.” 

“Your  daughter  Mary  is  there,”  said 


he. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

He  wrote  that  very  evening-,  after  Mrs. 
Horneck  had  taken  her  departure,  one  of 
his  merry  letters  to  Katherine  Bunbury, 
telling-  her  that  he  had  resolved  to  yield 
g-racefully  to  her  entreaties  to  visit  her, 
and  meant  to  leave  for  Barton  the  next  day. 
When  that  letter  was  written  he  g*ave  him- 
self up  to  his  thoug-hts. 

All  his  thoug-hts  were  of  Mary.  He  was 
g-oing-  to  place  a barrier  between  her  and 
himself.  He  was  g*oing-  to  g*ive  himself  a 
chance  of  life  by  making*  it  impossible  for 
him  to  love  her.  This  writer  of  books  had 
broug-ht  himself  to  think  that  if  Mary  Hor- 
neck were  to  marry  Colonel  Gwyn  he, 
Oliver  Goldsmith,  would  come  to  think  of 
her  as  he  thoug-ht  of  her  sister — with  the 
affection  which  exists  between  g-ood  friends. 

While  her  mother  had  been  talking-  to 
him  about  her  and  her  loving-  heart,  he  had 
suddenly  become  possessed  of  the  truth:  it 
was  her  sympathetic  heart  that  had  led  her 
to  make  the  two  mistakes  of  her  life.  First, 
she  had  fancied  that  she  loved  the  impostor 

395 


396  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

whom  she  had  met  in  Devonshire,  and  then 
she  had  fancied  that  she  loved  him,  Oliver 
Goldsmith.  He  knew  what  she  meant  by 
the  words  which  she  had  spoken  in  his 
presence.  He  knew  that  if  he  had  not  been 
strong-  enough  to  answer  her  as  he  had 
done  that  day,  she  would  have  told  him  that 
she  loved  him. 

Her  mother  was  right.  She  was  in 
great  danger  through  her  liability  to  follow 
the  promptings  of  her  heart.  If  already 
she  had  made  two  such  mistakes  as  he  had 
become  aware  of,  into  what  disaster  might 
not  she  be  led  in  the  future? 

Yes;  her  mother  was  right.  Safety  for 
a girl  with  so  tender  a heart  was  to  be 
found  only  in  marriage  — marriage  with 
such  a man  as  Colonel  Gwyn  undoubtedly 
was.  He  recollected  the  details  of  Colonel 
Gwyn’s  visit  to  himself,  and  how  favourably 
impressed  he  had  been  with  the  man.  He 
undoubtedly  possessed  every  trait  of  char- 
acter that  goes  to  constitute  a good  man 
and  a good  husband.  Above  all,  he  was  de- 
voted to  Mary  Horneck,  and  there  was  no 
man  who  would  be  better  able  to  keep  her 
from  the  dangers  which  surrounded  her. 

Yes,  he  would  go  to  Barton  and  carry  out 
Mrs.  Horneck’s  request.  He  would,  more- 
over, be  careful  to  refrain  from  any  men- 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  397 

tion  of  the  word  duty,  which  would,  the 
lady  had  declared,  if  introduced  into  his 
argument,  tend  to  frustrate  his  intention. 

He  went  down  to  Barton  by  coach  the 
next  day.  He  felt  very  ill  indeed,  and  he 
was  not  quite  so  confident  as  Mrs.  Horneck 
that  the  result  of  his  visit  would  be  to 
restore  him  to  perfect  health.  His  last 
thought  before  leaving  was  that  if  Mary 
was  made  happy  nothing  else  was  worth  a 
moment’s  consideration. 

She  met  him  with  a chaise  driven  by 
Bunbury,  at  the  cross  roads,  where  the 
coach  set  him  down;  and  he  could  not  fail 
to  perceive  that  she  was  even  more  shocked 
than  her  mother  had  been  at  his  changed 
appearance.  While  still  on  the  top  of  the 
coach  he  saw  her  face  lighted  with  pleasure 
the  instant  she  caught  sight  of  him.  She 
waved  her  hand  toward  him,  and  Bunbury 
waved  his  whip.  But  the  moment  he  had 
swung  himself  painfully  and  laboriously  to 
the  ground,  he  saw  the  look  of  amazement 
both  on  her  face  and  on  that  of  her  brother- 
' in-law. 

She  was  speechless,  but  it  was  not  in  the 
nature  of  Bunbury  to  be  so. 

“Good  Lord!  Noll,  what  have  you  been 
doing  to  yourself?”  he  cried.  “Why,  you  ’re 
not  like  the  same  man.  Is  he,  Mary?” 


398  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

Mary  only  shook  her  head. 

“I  have  been  ill,”  said  Oliver.  “But  I 
am  better  already,  having*  seen  you  both 
with  your  brown  country  faces.  How  is 
my  Little  Comedy?  Is  she  ready  to  give 
me  another  lesson  in  loo?” 

“ She  will  give  you  what  you  need  most, 
you  may  be  certain,”  said  Bunbury,  while 
the  groom  was  strapping  on  his  carpet-bag. 
“Oh!  yes;  we  will  take  care  that  you  get 
rid  of  that  student’s  face  of  yours,”  he  con- 
tinued. “Yes,  and  those  sunken  eyes! 
Good  Lord!  what  a wreck  you  are!  But 
we  ’ll  build  you  up  again,  never  fear ! Bar- 
ton is  the  place  for  you  and  such  as  you,  my 
friend.” 

“I  tell  you  I am  better  already,”  cried 
Goldsmith;  and  then,  as  the  chaise  drove 
off,  he  glanced  at  the  girl  sitting  opposite  to 
him.  Her  face  had  become  pale,  her  eyes 
were  dim.  She  had  spoken  no  word  to  him; 
she  was  not  even  looking  at  him.  She  was 
gazing  over  the  hedgerows  and  the  ploughed 
fields. 

Bunbury  rattled  away  in  unison  with  the 
rattling  of  the  chaise  along  the  uneven  road. 
He  roared  with  laughter  as  he  recalled 
some  of  the  jests  which  had  been  played 
upon  Goldsmith  when  he  had  last  been  at 
Barton;  but  though  Oliver  tried  to  smile  in 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  399 

response,  Mary  was  silent.  When  the 
chaise  arrived  at  the  house,  however,  and 
Little  Comedy  welcomed  her  guest  at  the 
great  door,  her  high  spirits  triumphed  over 
even  the  depressing  effect  of  her  husband’s 
artificial  hilarity.  She  did  not  betray  the 
shock  which  she  experienced  on  observing 
how  greatly  changed  was  her  friend  since 
he  had  been  with  her  and  her  sister  at 
Ranelagh.  She  met  him  with  a laugh  and  a 
cry  of  “ You  have  never  come  to  us  without 
your  scratch-wig?  If  you  have  forgot  it, 
you  will  e’en  have  to  go  back  for  it.” 

The  allusion  to  the  merriment  which 
had  made  the  house  noisy  when  he  had  last 
been  at  Barton  caused  Oliver  to  brighten  up 
somewhat;  and  later  on,  at  dinner,  he 
yielded  to  the  influence  of  Katherine  Bun- 
bury ’s  splendid  vitality.  Other  guests  were 
at  the  table,  and  the  genial  chat  quickly  be- 
came general.  After  dinner,  he  sang  sev- 
eral of  his  Irish  songs  for  his  friends  in  the 
drawing-room,  Mary  playing  an  accompani- 
ment on  the  harpsichord.  Before  he  went 
to  his  bed-room  he  was  ready  to  confess 
that  Mrs.  Horneckhad  judged  rightly  what 
would  be  the  effect  upon  himself  of  his  visit 
to  the  house  he  loved.  He  felt  better  — 
better  than  he  had  been  for  months. 

In  the  morning  he  was  pleased  to  find 


400  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

that  Mary  seemed  to  have  recovered  her 
usual  spirits.  She  walked  round  the  g-rounds 
with  him  and  her  sister  after  breakfast, 
and  laug-hed  without  reservation  at  the  lat- 
ter’s amusing*  imitation,  after  the  manner 
of  Garrick,  of  Colonel  Gwyn’s  declaration 
of  his  passion,  and  of  Mary’s  reply  to  him. 
She  had  caught  very  happily  the  manner  of 
the  suitor,  though  of  course  she  made  a 
burlesque  of  the  scene,  especially  in  assum- 
ing the  fluttered  demureness  which  she  de- 
clared she  had  good  reason  for  knowing  had 
frightened  the  lover  so  greatly  as  to  cause 
him  to  talk  of  the  evil  results  of  drinking 
tea,  when  he  had  meant  to  talk  about  love. 

She  had  such  a talent  for  this  form  of 
fun,  and  she  put  so  much  character  into 
her  casual  travesties  of  every  one  whom 
she  sought  to  imitate,  she  never  gave  of- 
fence, as  a less  adroit  or  less  discriminat- 
ing person  would  be  certain  to  have  done. 
Mary  laughed  even  more  heartily  than 
Goldsmith  at  the  account  her  sister  gave  of 
the  imaginary  scene. 

Goldsmith  soon  found  that  the  proposal 
of  Colonel  Gwyn  had  passed  into  the  already 
long  list  of  family  jests,  and  he  saw  that  he 
was  expected  to  understand  the  many  illu- 
sions daily  made  to  the  incident  of  his  re- 
jection. A new  nickname  had  been  found 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  401 

by  her  brother-in-law  for  Mary,  and  of 
course  Katherine  quickly  discovered  one 
that  was  extremely  appropriate  to  Colonel 
Gwyn;  and  thus,  with  sly  glances  and  good- 
humoured  mirth,  the  hours  passed  as  they 
had  always  done  in  the  house  which  had 
ever  been  so  delightful  to  at  least  one  of  the 
guests. 

He  could  not  help  feeling,  however,  be- 
fore his  visit  had  reached  its  fourth  day, 
that  the  fact  of  their  treating  in  this  hu- 
mourous fashion  an  incident  which  Mrs. 
Horneck  had  charged  him  to  treat  very 
seriously  was  extremely  embarrassing  to 
his  mission.  How  was  he  to  ask  Mary  to 
treat  as  the  most  serious  incident  in  her 
life  the  one  which  was  every  day  treated 
before  her  eyes  with  levity  by  her  sister 
and  her  husband  ? 

And  yet  he  felt  daily  the  truth  of  what 
Mrs.  Horneck  had  said  to  him — that  Mary’s 
acceptance  of  Colonel  Gwyn  would  be  an 
assurance  of  her  future  such  as  might  not 
be  so  easily  found  again.  He  feared  to 
think  what  might  be  in  store  for  a girl  who 
had  shown  herself  to  be  ruled  only  by  her 
own  sympathetic  heart. 

He  resolved  that  he  would  speak  to  her 
without  delay  respecting  Colonel  Gwyn; 
and  though  he  was  afraid  that  at  first  she 


402  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

might  be  disposed  to  laugh  at  his  attempt 
to  put  a more  serious  complexion  upon  her 
rejection  of  the  suitor  whom  her  mother 
considered  most  eligible,  he  had  no  doubt 
that  he  could  bring  her  to  regard  the  matter 
with  some  degree  of  gravity. 

The  opportunity  for  making  an  attempt 
in  this  direction  occurred  on  the  afternoon 
of  the  fourth  day  of  his  visit.  He  found 
himself  alone  with  Mary  in  the  still-room. 
She  had  just  put  on  an  apron  in  order  to 
put  new  covers  on  the  jars  of  preserved 
walnuts.  As  she  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
many-scented  room,  surrounded  by  bottles 
of  distilled  waters  and  jars  of  preserved 
fruits  and  great  Worcester  bowls  of  pot- 
pourri, with  bundles  of  sweet  herbs  and 
drying  lavenders  suspended  from  the  ceil- 
ing, Charles  Bunbury,  passing  along  the 
corridor  with  his  dogs,  glanced  in. 

“ What  a housewife  we  have  become!” 
he  cried.  “Quite  right,  my  dear  ; the  head 
of  the  Gwyn  household  will  need  to  be 
deft.” 

Mary  laughed,  throwing  a sprig  of 
thyme  at  him,  and  Oliver  spoke  before  the 
dog’s  paws  sounded  on  the  polished  oak  of 
the  staircase. 

“I  am  afraid,  my  Jessamy  Bride,”  said 
he,  “that  I do  not  enter  into  the  spirit  of 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  403 

this  jest  about  Colonel  Gwyn  so  heartily  as 
your  sister  or  her  husband.” 

“’Tis  foolish  on  their  part,”  said  she. 
“But  Little  Comedy  is  ever  on  the  watch 
for  a subject  for  her  jests,  and  Charles  is 
an  active  abettor  of  her  in  her  folly.  This 
particular  jest  is,  I think,  a trifle  thread- 
bare by  now.” 

“ Colonel  Gwyn  is  a gentleman  who  de- 
serves the  respect  of  every  one,”  said  he. 

“Indeed,  I agree  with  you,”  she  cried. 
“I  agree  with  you  heartily.  I do  not  know 
a man  whom  I respect  more  highly.  Had  I 
not  every  right  to  feel  flattered  by  his 
attention?” 

“No — no;  you  have  no  reason  to  feel 
flattered  by  the  attention  of  any  man  from 
the  Prince  down — or  should  I say  up?”  he 
replied. 

“’Twould  be  treason  to  say  so,”  she 
laughed.  “ Well,  let  poor  Colonel  Gwyn  be. 
What  a pity  ’tis  Sir  Isaac  Newton  did  not 
discover  a new  way  of  treating  walnuts  for 
pickling!  That  discovery  would  have  been 
more  valuable  to  us  than  his  theory  of  grav- 
itation, which,  I hold,  never  saved  a poor 
woman  a day’s  work.” 

“I  do  not  want  to  let  Colonel  Gwyn  be,” 
said  he  quietly.  “On  the  contrary,  I came 
down  here  specially  to  talk  of  him.” 


404  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

“Ah,  I perceive  that  you  have  been 
speaking-  with  my  mother,’’  said  she,  con- 
tinuing* her  work. 

“Mary,  my  dear,  I have  been  thinking- 
about  you  very  earnestly  of  late,”  said  he. 

“Only  of  late!”  she  cried.  “Ah!  I 
flattered  myself  that  I had  some  of  your 
thoug-hts  long-  ago  as  well.” 

“I  have  always  thought  of  you  with  the 
truest  afi'ection,  dear  child.  But  latterly 
you  have  never  been  out  of  my  thoughts.” 
She  ceased  her  work  and  looked  towards 
him  gratefully — attentively.  He  left  his 
seat  and  went  to  her  side. 

“My  sweet  Jessamy  Bride,”  said  he,  “I 
have  thought  of  your  future  with  great  un- 
easiness of  heart.  I feel  towards  you  as — 
as — perhaps  a father  might  feel,  or  an  elder 
brother.  My  happiness  in  the  future  is 
dependent  upon  yours,  and  alas!  I fear  for 
you;  the  world  is  full  of  snares.” 

“I  know  that,”  she  quietly  said.  “Ah, 
you  know  that  I have  had  some  experience 
of  the  snares.  If  you  had  not  come  to  my 
help  what  shame  would  have  been  mine  ! ” 
“Dear  child,  there  was  no  blame  to  be 
attached  to  you  in  that  painful  affair,”  said 
he.  “ It  was  your  tender  heart  that  led  you 
astray  at  first,  and  thank  God  you  have  the 
same  good  heart  in  your  bosom.  But  alas  ! 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  405 

’tis  just  the  tenderness  of  your  heart  that 
makes  me  fear  for  you.” 

“ Nay ; it  can  become  as  steel  upon  occa- 
sions,” said  she.  “Did  not  I send  Colonel 
Gwyn  away  from  me?” 

“You  were  wrong*  to  do  so,  my  Mary,” 
he  said.  “Colonel  Gwyn  is  a good  man — 
he  is  a man  with  whom  your  future  would 
be  sure.  He  would  be  able  to  shelter  you 
from  all  dang*ers — from  the  dang*ers  into 
which  your  own  heart  may  lead  you  again 
as  it  led  you  before.” 

“ You  have  come  here  to  plead  the  cause 
of  Colonel  Gwyn?”  said  she. 

“Yes,”  he  replied.  “I  believe  him  to 
be  a good  man.  I believe  that  as  his  wife 
you  would  be  safe  from  all  the  dangers 
which  surround  such  a girl  as  you  in  the 
world.” 

“Ah!  my  dear  friend,”  she  cried.  “I 
have  seen  enough  of  the  world  to  know  that 
a woman  is  not  sheltered  from  the  dangers 
of  the  world  from  the  day  she  marries. 
Nay,  is  it  not  often  the  case  that  the  dangers 
only  begin  to  beset  her  on  that  day?” 

“ Often — often.  But  it  would  not  be  so 
with  you,  dear  child — at  least,  not  if  you 
marry  Colonel  Gwyn.” 

“Even  if  I do  not  love  him?  Ah!  I fear 
that  you  have  become  a worldly  man  all  at 


406  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

once,  Dr.  Goldsmith.  You  counsel  a poor 
weak  girl  from  the  standpoint  of  her  match- 
making mother.” 

“Nay,  God  knows,  my  sweet  Mary,  what 
it  costs  me  to  speak  to  you  in  this  way.  God 
knows  how  much  sweeter  it  would  be  for 
me  to  be  able  to  think  of  you  always  as  I 
think  of  you  know — bound  to  no  man — the 
dearest  of  all  my  friends.  I know  it  would 
be  impossible  for  me  to  occupy  the  same 
position  as  I now  do  in  regard  to  you  if  you 
were  married.  Ah ! I have  seen  that  there 
is  no  more  potent  divider  of  friendship  than 
marriage.” 

“And  yet  you  urge  upon  me  to  marry 
Colonel  Gwyn?” 

“Yes — yes — I say  I do  think  it  would 
mean  the  assurance  of  your — your  happi- 
ness— yes,  happiness  in  the  future.” 

“Surely  no  man  ever  had  so  good  a 
heart  as  you ! ” she  cried.  “ You  are  ready 
to  sacrifice  yourself  — I mean  you  are  ready 
to  forego  all  the  pleasure  which  our  meet- 
ing, as  we  have  been  in  the  habit  of  meeting 
for  the  past  four  years,  gives  you,  for  the 
sake  of  seeing  me  on  the  way  to  happiness 
— or  what  you  fancy  will  be  happiness.” 

“I  am  ready,  my  dear  child;  you  know 
what  the  sacrifice  means  to  me.” 

“Ido,”  she  said  after  a pause.  “Ido, 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  407 

because  I know  what  it  would  mean  to  me. 
But  you  shall  not  be  called  to  make  that 
sacrifice.  I will  not  marry  Colonel  Gwyn.” 
“Nay  — nay  — do  not  speak  so  defi- 
nitely,” he  said. 

“I  will  speak  definitely,”  she  cried. 
“Yes,  the  time  is  come  for  me  to  speak 
definitely.  I mig-ht  agree  to  marry  Colonel 
Gwyn  in  the  hope  of  being  happy  if  I did 
not  love  some  one  else ; but  loving  some  one 
else  with  all  my  heart,  I dare  not  — oh ! I 
dare  not  even  entertain  the  thought  of  mar- 
rying Colonel  Gwyn.” 

“You  love  some  one  else?”  he  said 
slowly,  wonderingly.  For  a moment  there 
went  through  his  mind  the  thought  — 

‘ ‘ Her  heart  has  led  her  astray  once  again.  ’ ’ 
“I  love  some  one  else  with  all  my  heart 
and  all  my  strength,”  she  cried ; “ I love  one 
who  is  worthy  of  all  the  love  of  the  best  that 
lives  in  the  world.  I love  one  who  is  cruel 
enough  to  wish  to  turn  me  away  from  his 
heart,  though  that  heart  of  his  has  known 
the  secret  of  mine  for  long.” 

Now  he  knew  what  she  meant.  He  put 
his  hands  together  before  her,  saying  in  a 
hushed  voice  — 

“Ah,  child  — child  — spare  me  that  pain 
’^let  me  go  from  you.” 

“ Not  till  you  hear  me,”  she  said.  “Ahl 


408  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

cannot  you  perceive  that  I love  you  — only 
you,  Oliver  Goldsmith?” 

“Hush  — for  God’s  sake!”  he  cried. 

“I  will  not  hush,”  she  said.  “I  will 
speak  for  love’s  sake  — for  the  sake  of  that 
love  which  I bear  you  — for  the  sake  of  that 
love  which  I know  you  return.” 

“Alas  — alas!  ” 

“ I know  it.  Is  there  any  shame  in  such 
a g*irl  as  I am  confessing*  her  love  for  such  a 
man  as  you?  I think  that  there  is  none. 
The  shame  before  Eeaven  would  be  in  my 
keeping*  silence  — in  marrying*  a man  I do 
not  love.  Ah ! I have  known  you  as  no  one 
else  has  known  you.  I have  understood 
your  nature  — so  sweet  — so  simple  — so 
great  — so  true.  I thoug*ht  last  year  when 
you  saved  me  from  worse  than  death  that 
the  feeling*  which  I had  for  you  mig*ht  per- 
haps be  g*ratitude;  but  now  I have  come  to 
know  the  truth.” 

He  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm,  saying  in  a 
whisper  — 

“ Stop  — stop  — for  God’s  sake,  stop ! I 
— I — do  not  love  you.” 

She  looked  at  him  and  laughed  at  first. 
But  as  his  head  fell,  her  laugh  died  away. 
There  was  a long  silence,  during  which  she 
kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon  him,  as  he  stood 
before  her  looking  at  the  floor. 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  409 

“You  do  not  love  me?”  she  said  in  a 
slow  whisper.  “ Will  you  say  those  words 
ag-ain  with  your  eyes  looking*  into  mine?  ” 

“ Do  not  humiliate  me  further,”  he  said. 
“ Have  some  pity  upon  me.” 

“ No  — no;  pity  is  not  for  me,”  she  said. 
“If  you  spoke  the  truth  when  you  said 
those  words,  speak  it  ag*ain  now.  Tell  me 
again  that  you  do  not  love  me.” 

“You  say  you  know  me,”  he  cried,  “and 
yet  you  think  it  possible  that  I could  take 
advantage  of  this  second  mistake  that  your 
kind  and  sympathetic  heart  has  made  for 
your  own  undoing.  Look  there  — there  — 
into  that  glass,  and  see  what  a terrible  mis- 
take your  heart  has  made.” 

He  pointed  to  a long,  narrow  mirror 
between  the  windows.  It  reflected  an  ex- 
quisite face  and  figure  by  the  side  of  a face 
on  which  long  suffering  and  struggle,  long 
years  of  hardship  and  toil,  had  left  their 
mark  — a figure  attenuated  by  want  and  ill- 
health. 

“ Look  at  that  ludicrous  contrast,  my 
child,”  he  said,  “and  you  will  see  what  a mis- 
take your  heart  has  made.  Have  I not  heard 
the  jests  which  have  been  made  when  we 
were  walking  together?  Have  I not  noticed 
the  pain  they  gave  you?  Do  you  think  me 
capable  of  increasing  that  pain  in  the  future? 


410  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

Do  you  think  me  capable  of  bringing-  upon 
your  family,  who  have  been  kinder  than 
any  living  beings  to  me,  the  greatest  mis- 
fortune that  could  befall  them?  Nay,  nay, 
my  dear  child;  you  cannot  think  that  I 
could  be  so  base.” 

“ I will  not  think  of  anything  except  that 
I love  the  man  who  is  best  worthy  of  being 
loved  of  all  men  in  the  world,”  said  she. 
“Ah,  sir,  cannot  you  perceive  that  your 
attitude  toward  me  now  but  strengthens 
my  affection  for  you?” 

“ Mary  — Mary  — this  is  madness  1 ” 

“ Listen  to  me,”  she  said.  “ I feel  that 
you  return  my  affection;  but  I will  put  you 
to  the  test.  If  you  can  look  into  my  face 
and  tell  me  that  you  do  not  love  me  I will 
marry  Colonel  Gwyn.” 

There  was  another  pause  before  he 
said  — 

“ Have  I not  spoken  once?  Why  should 
you  urge  me  on  to  so  painful  an  ordeal?  Let 
me  go  — let  me  go.” 

“ Not  until  you  answer  me — not  until  I 
have  proved  you.  Look  into  my  eyes,  Oliver 
Goldsmith,  and  speak  those  words  to'  me 
that  you  spoke  just  now.” 

“Ah,  dear  child ” 

“ You  cannot  speak  those  words.” 

There  was  another  long  silence.  The 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  411 

terrible  struggle  that  was  going  on  in  the 
heart  of  that  man  whose  words  are  now  so 
dear  to  the  hearts  of  so  many  million  men 
and  women,  was  maintained  in  silence.  No 
one  but  himself  could  hear  the  tempter’s 
voice  whispering  to  him  to  put  his  arms 
round  the  beautiful  girl  who  stood  before 
him,  and  kiss  her  on  her  cheeks,  which 
were  now  rosy  with  expectation. 

He  lifted  up  his  head.  His  lips  moved. 
He  put  out  a hand  to  her  a little  way,  but 
with  a moan  he  drew  it  back.  Then  he 
looked  into  her  eyes,  and  said  slowly  — 

“ It  is  the  truth.  I do  not  love  you  with 
the  heart  of  a lover.” 

“ That  is  enough.  Leave  me!  My  heart 
is  broken!” 

She  fell  into  a chair,  and  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands. 

He  looked  at  her  for  a moment;  then, 
with  a cry  of  agony,  he  went  out  of  the 
room  — out  of  the  house. 

In  his  heart,  as  he  wandered  on  to  the 
high  road,  there  was  not  much  of  the  exal- 
tation of  a man  who  knows  that  he  has 
overcome  an  unworthy  impulse. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 


When  he  did  not  return  toward  nig*ht 
Charles  Bunbury  and  his  wife  became 
alarmed.  He  had  only  taken  his  hat  and 
cloak  from  the  hall  as  he  went  out;  he  had 
left  no  line  to  tell  them  that  he  did  not  mean 
to  return. 

Bunbury  questioned  Mary  about  him. 
Had  he  not  been  with  her  in  the  still-room, 
he  inquired. 

She  told  him  the  truth  — as  much  of  the 
truth  as  she  could  tell. 

“ I am  afraid  that  his  running-  away  was 
due  to  me,”  she  said.  “If  so,  I shall  never 
forg-ive  myself.” 

“ What  can  be  your  meaning-,  my  dear?” 
he  inquired.  “I  thoug-ht  that  you  and  he 
had  always  been  the  closest  friends.” 

“If  we  had  not  been  such  friends  we 
should  never  have  quarreled,”  said  she. 
“You  know  that  our  mother  has  had  her 
heart  set  upon  my  acceptance  of  Colonel 
Gwyn.  Well,  she  went  to  see  Goldsmith  at 
his  cottag-e,  and  beg-g-ed  of  him  to  come  to 

412 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  413 

me  with  a view  of  inducing  me  to  accept 
the  proposal  of  Colonel  Gwyn.” 

‘‘I  heard  nothing  of  that,”  said  he,  with 
a look  of  astonishment.  “And  so  I suppose 
when  he  began  to  be  urg*ent  in  his  pleading 
you  got  annoyed  and  said  something  that 
offended  him.” 

She  held  down  her  head. 

“You  should  be  ashamed  of  yourself,” 
said  he  “ Have  you  not  seen  long  ago  that 
that  man  is  no  more  than  a child  in  sim- 
plicity?” 

“I  am  ashamed  of  myself,”  said  she. 
“I  shall  never  forgive  myself  for  my  harsh- 
ness.” 

“That  will  not  bring  him  back,”  said 
her  brother-in-law.  “ Oh ! it  is  always  the 
best  of  friends  who  part  in  this  fashion.” 

Two  days  afterwards  he  told  his  wife 
that  he  was  going  to  London.  He  had  so 
sincere  an  attachment  for  Goldsmith,  his 
wife  knew  very  well  that  he  felt  that  sud- 
den departure  of  his  very  deeply,  and  that 
he  would  try  and  induce  him  to  return. 

But  when  Bunbury  came  back  after  the 
lapse  of  a couple  of  days,  he  came  back 
alone.  His  wife  met  him  in  the  chaise 
when  the  coach  came  up.  His  face  was 
very  grave. 

“I  saw  the  poor  fellow,”  he  said.  “I 


414  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

found  him  at  his  chambers  in  Brick  Court. 
He  is  very  ill  indeed.” 

“ What,  too  ill  to  be  moved?”  she  cried. 
He  shook  his  head. 

“Far  too  ill  to  be  moved,”  he  said.  “I 
never  saw  a man  in  worse  condition.  He 
declared,  however,  that  he  had  often  had  as 
severe  attacks  before  now,  and  that  he  has 
no  doubt  he  will  recover.  He  sent  his  love 
to  you  and  to  Mary.  He  hopes  you  will  for- 
give him  for  his  rudeness,  he  says.” 

“His  rudeness!  his  rudeness!”  said 
Katherine,  her  eyes  streaming  with  tears. 
“ Oh,  my  poor  friend  — my  poor  friend ! ” 
She  did  not  tell  her  sister  all  that  her 
husband  had  said  to  her.  Mary  was,  of 
course,  very  anxious  to  hear  how  Oliver 
was,  but  Katherine  only  said  that  Charles 
had  seen  him  and  found  him  very  ill.  The 
doctor  who  was  in  attendance  on  him  had 
promised  to  write  if  he  thought  it  advisable 
for  him  to  have  a change  to  the  country. 

The  next  morning  the  two  sisters 'were 
sitting  together  when  the  postboy’s  horn 
sounded.  They  started  up  simultaneously, 
awaiting  a letter  from  the  doctor. 

No  letter  arrived,  only  a narrow  parcel, 
clumsily  sealed,  addressed  to  Miss  Hor- 
neck  in  a strange  handwriting. 

When  she  had  broken  the  seals  she 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  415 

g*ave  a cry,  for  the  packet  contained  sheet 
after  sheet  in  Goldsmith’s  hand  — poems 
addressed  to  her — the  love-songs  which 
his  heart  had  been  singing  to  her  through 
the  long  hopeless  years. 

She  glanced  at  one,  then  at  another,  and 
another,  with  beating  heart. 

She  started  up,  crying  — 

“Ah!  I knew  it,  I knew  it!  He  loves 
me  — he  loves  me  as  I love  him  — only  his 
love  is  deep,  while  mine  was  shallow  ! Oh, 
my  dear  love  — he  loves  me,  and  now  he  is 
dying  ! Ah  1 I know  that  he  is  dying,  or  he 
would  not  have  sent  me  these;  he  would 
have  sacrificed  himself  — nay,  he  has  sacri- 
ficed himself  for  me  — for  me  ! ” 

She  threw  herself  on  a sofa  and  buried 
her  face  in  her  hands. 

“My  dear  — dear  sister,”  said  Kather- 
ine, “ is  it  possible  that  you  — you ’ ’ 

“ That  I loved  him,  do  you  ask?  ” cried 
Mary,  raising  her  head.  “Yes,  I loved 
him  — I love  him  still  — I shall  never  love 
any  one  else,  and  I am  going  to  him  to  tell 
him  so.  Ah!  God  will  be  good  — God  will 
be  good.  My  love  shall  live  until  I go  to 
him.” 

“My  poor  child! ’’said  her  sister.  “I 
could  never  have  guessed  your  secret. 
Come  away.  We  will  go  to  him  together.” 


416  THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE 

They  left  by  the  coach  that  day,  and 
early  the  next  morning*  they  went  together 
to  Brick  Court. 

A Woman  weeping  met  them  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs.  They  recognised  Mrs.  Ab- 
ington. 

“ Do  not  tell  me  that  I am  too  late  — for 
God’s  sake  say  that  he  still  lives ! ” cried 
Mary. 

The  actress  took  her  handkerchief  from 
her  eyes. 

She  did  not  speak.  She  did  not  even 
shake  her  head.  She  only  looked  at  the 
girl,  and  the  girl  understood. 

She  threw  herself  into  her  sister’s 
arms. 

“ He  is  dead  ! ” she  cried.  “ But,  thank 
God,  he  did  not  die  without  knowing  that 
one  woman  in  the  world  loved  him  truly  for 
his  own  sake.” 

“ That  surely  is  the  best  thought  that  a 
man  can  have,  going  into  the  Presence,” 
said  Mrs.  Abington.  “Ah,  my  child,  I am 
a wicked  woman,  but  I know  that  while  you 
live  your  fondest  reflection  will  be  that  the 
thought  of  your  love  soothed  the  last  hours 
of  the  truest  man  that  ever  lived.  Ah, 
there  was  none  like  him  — a man  of  such 
sweet  simplicity  that  every  word  he  spoke 
came  from  his  heart.  Let  others  talk  about 


THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  417 

his  works  ; you  and  I love  the  man,  for  we 
know  that  he  was  greater  and  not  less  than 
those  works.  And  now  he  is  in  the  pres- 
ence of  God,  telling  the  Son  who  on  earth 
was  born  of  a woman  that  he  had  all  a wom- 
an’s love.” 

Mary  put  her  arm  about  the  neck  of 
the  actress,  and  kissed  her. 

She  went  with  her  sister  among  the 
weeping  men  and  women  — he  had  been  a 
friend  to  all  — up  the  stairs  and  into  the 
darkened  room. 

She  threw  herself  on  her  knees  beside 
the  bed. 


THE  END. 


PRINTED  BY  STKOMBERG,  ALLEN  & CO. 
FOR 

HERBERT  S.  STONE  & COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 
CHICAGO 


By  FRANKFORT  MOORE 

The  Impudent  Comedian 

And  Others 

Illustrated.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

Stories  relating  to  seventeenth  and  eigh- 
teenth century  characters — Nell  Gwynn,  Kitty 
Clive,  Oliver  Goldsmith,  Dr.  Johnson  and 
David  Garrick.  They  are  bright,  witty  and 
dramatic. 

Capital  short  stories. — Brooklyn  Eagle, 

A thing  of  joy. — Buffalo  Express, 

The  person  who  has  a proper  eye  to  the  artistic 
in  fiction  will  possess  them  ere  another  day  shall 
dawn. — Scranton  Tribune, 

Full  of  the  mannerisms  of  the  stage,  and  thor- 
oughly Bohemian  in  atmosphere. — Boston  Herald, 

The  celebrated  actresses  whom  he  takes  for  his 
heroines  sparkle  with  feminine  liveliness  of  mind. — 
New  York  Tribune. 

A collection  of  short  stories  which  has  a flash  of 
the  picturesqueness,  the  repartee,  the  dazzle  of  the 
age  of  Garrick  and  Goldsmith,  of  Peg  Woffington 
and  Kitty  Clive. — Hartford  Courant. 

The  stories  are  well  conceived  and  amusing, 
bearing  upon  every  page  the  impress  of  an  intimate 
study  of  the  fascinating  period  wherein  they  are 
laid. — The  Dial, 

Mr.  F.  Frankfort  Moore  had  a capital  idea  when 
he  undertook  to  throw  into  story  form  some  of  the 
traditional  incidents  of  the  history  of  the  stage  in 
its  earlier  English  days.  Nell  Gwynn,  Kitty  Clive, 
Mrs.  Siddons,  Mrs.  Abbington  and  others  are  clev- 
erly depicted,  with  much  of  the  swagger  and  flavor 
of  their  times. — The  Outlook, 

To  he  had  of  all  booksellers;  or  will  be  sent  post- 
paid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the  publishers, 

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